


Batman: Knight of the Hunt

by Hamilchar



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Batman - All Media Types, Predators (2010)
Genre: Adventure, Crossover, Gen, Horror, Sci-Fi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2019-12-07 14:51:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18236390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hamilchar/pseuds/Hamilchar
Summary: The Dark Knight - along with a handful of the world's deadliest fighters - find themselves trapped in a brutal game of survival against the greatest hunters in the universe - the Predators. As the humans face their own challenges, along with ghosts from their pasts, the unseen Predators quietly observe, learning everything they can about their quarry before moving in for the kill.





	1. Trouble in Arkham

Alarms ring out from Arkham. As the Batmobile races toward the scene, the Caped Crusader can’t help wondering how the night will end. Which cunning maniac has gotten loose this time? And how many people will die as a result?

He grits his teeth at the thought. No one dies tonight, not if he can help it.

In the Batmobile’s passenger seat, Robin fidgets nervously. Jason Todd isn’t afraid of a good fight; in fact, he looks forward to the idea. It’s the tense silence as his mentor drives that gets on his nerves.

They finally reach the gates of Arkham, but they don’t swing open, in spite of the key chip installed in the Batmobile. Someone’s cut the power to the facility – not a good sign. But Batman doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even slow down. The iron gate flattens under the armored wheels of the Batmobile.

No one’s dying tonight.

The sounds of a riot drift out into the yard. Batman and Robin leap from the Batmobile almost before it screeches to a sudden halt. They scale the inner wall in seconds, darting up the stone steps and into Arkham’s main lobby.

Deranged cackling greets their arrival. On a landing overlooking the entrance, a patient with bleached white skin and unkempt green hair stands over a fallen guard. It’s the Joker, self-proclaimed Clown Prince of Crime. Of course, it would be him, brandishing a bloodied crowbar in one hand and the guard’s pistol in the other. Behind him is a leering crowd of fellow patients. Others close in from the other side of the room.

Batman groans at the sight of his nemesis, but too quietly for anyone other than Robin to hear. Now the Joker skips down the stairs toward them, still cackling softly, still waving the pistol. Batman’s eyes narrow as he examines the weapon. It’s a Smith and Wesson M&P semiautomatic. It shoots 9mm bullets, and fifteen of those bullets fit in the pistol’s magazine, with an additional round in the chamber. That is, unless its already been fired. Batman prays it has not. Even one casualty is too many.

“Robin, get to the control center. I want power and security systems back online.”

Pausing just long enough for a final glare at the Joker, Jason hurries off to his task. A couple of goons try to stop him, but he gets past with an acrobatic flip. No one seems concerned with following him either. Apparently Batman is the real prize. Some faces are set, determined. These are the smart ones, who realize just how dangerous Batman is. The rest are still leering, confident in their superior numbers. Joker grins as well, not because he’s confident of victory, but simply because he enjoys the chaos. Win or lose.

As Robin leaves, Batman advances toward the madman. His step is even, measured. He doesn’t drop into a fighter’s stance, or raise his fists for the combat. Just one foot in front of the other, eyes locked on the Joker’s twisted, grinning features.

There’s a change in the Joker’s smile, imperceptible to most eyes, but well known to the Batman. The game has moved to the next level. Beyond the mayhem, the cackling, or the theatrics. Most in the howling, mad crowd around them can only see two men in Halloween costumes, staring at each other in a sanitarium. But a few eyes witness a carefully choreographed, almost ritualistic duel between two knights. A paladin of law and justice versus a champion of chaos.

There’s a flicker in the Joker’s eye. The Smith and Wesson barks, but the Dark Knight sidesteps just as the gun goes off. Its an almost vampiric blur as the black cape dodges the bullet by mere inches. A shriek over his shoulder lets him know that one of Joker’s minions wasn’t as fortunate. But Batman’s already covering the distance between himself and the Clown Prince of Crime. His fingers close around Joker’s wrist, turning the gun arm back and down while also twisting the wrist. A fist connects with the clown’s shoulder, and the pistol drops from his grasp.

Bu the Joker is far from finished. A crowbar slices the air next to Batman’s head, a pivot and roll breaks his grip on the Joker’s wrist. Then the Joker seizes the crowbar in both hands, swinging it back and forth like a warrior’s mace. Batman dodges, first left then right, countering with a punch where he can. The crowbar crashes against his wrist, but thankfully the gauntlets take most of the damage. His forearm isn’t broken, but there’s still a throbbing pain. Worse, his fingers feel numb.

He answers with a counter-punch that connects with the bridge of Joker’s nose. With a howl, Joker drops the crowbar and staggers back. Then he laughs, wiping at the blood with the sleeve of his hospital uniform. He lashes out with a high kick, but Batman dodges. Then a haymaker from the right hand. Batman deflects and counters with a straight karate punch. Its close, but it doesn’t connect.

Then back and forth; arms and legs carving destructive arcs through the air. Batman fights with the balanced efficiency of over a dozen martial arts styles, while the Joker battles with the unpredictable frenzy of a madman. By now, they’ve dueled so many times that many of the clown’s strikes and parries are near perfect imitations of the Batman’s own. The Dark Knight’s superior strength is countered by the Joker’s ferocity, and his complete disregard for physical pain. Both men are breathing heavy before Batman manages to push the Joker back toward the stairs.

This, however, gives Joker the advantage of the high ground, allowing him to rain a torrent of blows down on Batman’s cowl. The Dark Knight deflects with a combination of Wing Chun and pure luck.

The lights flicker on with a dull hum. The sudden light is enough to temporarily distract both combatants, but its Batman who recovers first. A sweeping low kick takes the Joker’s legs out from under him. As he crashes back onto the landing, Batman pounces on top of him. One final punch, and the Joker goes limp. Handcuffs snap around his wrists.

Batman stands back up and looks around him. “Who’s next?”

As if waiting for the signal, the entire swarm closes ranks around him. Everyone is shouting and swinging. Batman pushes through up the stairs, striking right and left at those closest to him. The group splits under his assault. With more room to maneuver, he goes on the offensive. A roundhouse kick for one attacker, a right hook for another. Then a push kick, an elbow strike, counter and jab. Like a whirling dervish of carnage, the Dark Knight is constantly on the move, striking and subduing.

The second floor is all corridors and patient rooms, making it impossible for him to be surrounded. His opponents have to come straight at him now. Robin’s voice is in his ear.

“Power and security systems are completely restored, Batman. Hold on… okay, I can see you on the monitor.”

He slams Sterling Silversmith face-first into a wall. “Understood. You’re my eyes, Robin. I’m putting everyone back in their cells.”

“Got it.” Looking at the wall of screens in front of him, Robin can’t help but shake his head. “Good luck.”

Batman grits his teeth. He knows all too well that restoring order in Arkham is easier said than done. But with Joker and his main cronies defeated, some of the asylum’s staff begin to emerge from their hiding places. Others have to be saved with force, and three others will never need saving again. Their children will be put through college thanks to an anonymous donor, but that won’t completely erase Batman’s sense of guilt. No one should have died tonight.

But with each ward cleared, the job becomes that much easier. Dawn is only just breaking as Batman swings the last door shut, and steps out onto a balcony on the top floor. Robin is probably making his way to the Batmobile now. Batman will join him soon, but he needs a moment now. Just a moment to catch his breath and regain his focus.

But something is wrong. He doesn’t hear so much as sense the footstep. He turns quickly, but not fast enough. A sharp pain strikes his neck, spreading quickly through his torso. He feels himself falling before he can even see his attacker. There’s a frantic moment where he wonders what patient he overlooked, then he feels the floor reach up to grab him.

Everything goes dark, and in the blackness he thinks he hears an animalistic growl, or a faint clicking sound. And then he hears – and feels – nothing.


	2. Welcome to the Jungle

Blackness.  


Falling.  


Air rushing past his face, and the screaming of the wind.  


Batman’s eyes open. He feels weightless, yet plummeting. And beneath him, a carpet of green leaps up toward him. It’s no longer dark out, and this isn’t Gotham. He’s in free-fall at least 10,000 feet up. And for the first time in a long time, he can’t seem to think. He can hardly even comprehend what’s going on. His brain is operating only on a caveman level. All he can think is, “I’m going to die.”  


His hands are clawing at his chest even before he realizes why. It’s nothing more than an instinct. He eventually finds what he’s looking for, a small cord attached to a harness around his torso. The green is close enough for him to realize he’s above a dense jungle. He gives the ripcord a sharp tug.  


Nothing. The ground is even closer. At the very moment he thinks he’s accepted his imminent death, his hands jerk the cord again.  


There’s the briefest moment where the entire world freezes. No movement, no sound. Then a feeling like a giant claw tearing at him from above. His momentum is ripped away from him. Pain tears through his chest and shoulders as he’s jerked upright. He stares down at his feet, floating above the ocean of green below him. And with that, his senses finally return to him.  


Where on earth is he?  


There’s a small open space between the branches off to his left. He reaches up to grab the two straps above his head, turning and pulling to navigate toward the opening. The last portion of a jump is the most dangerous, as the ground comes up to meet you faster and harder than you realize.  


He can feel a gust of wind pulling him off course. If he misses the clearing, he could become entangled in the thick jungle branches and easily break his neck, which would kill him instantly. Or he could break a limb. Without medical assistance, that could easily kill him as well, though it would take a little longer.  


He pulls on the line, desperately trying to course-correct. Stay calm; he has to stay calm. The parachute bucks and twists in the wind, but he can feel it turn. His eyes scan the greenery for another opening, just in case. He sees nothing.  


Another pull on the parachute. He’s less than 100 feet from the treetops. One final turn – the branches reach up to grab him. He does his best to relax, keep his knees soft. If he locks up, the impact will snap both his legs under him, and he’ll be as good as dead. He’ll be a pile of bones less than five yards from a faded parachute.  


Breathe, focus, relax.  


He slips through the treetops, narrowly avoiding their branches’ deadly grip. The ground races up to meet him, all rocks and moss and strange ferns. His feet kiss the ground, his knees fold, he slides forward. Finally, he stops. On all fours, staring at the dark brown dirt and the bright green moss, his breath shaking. There’s a rustle behind him as the parachute comes to ground.  


He’s in a clearing perhaps twenty feet wide. The light spilling down from above fades to near blackness in the trees. Looking up through the gap in the branches, Batman can see the harsh sun looming directly overhead, much larger than in Gotham. He’s near the Equator, and the heat is oppressive. The thickness of the trees blocks any hint of a breeze, leaving the air still and humid. Hopefully the shade will offer some relief.  


He unfastens the harness and stands up quickly. The clearing is quiet, but from the jungle he can hear rumbling, birds cawing, and unrecognizable growls. Something is off about this jungle. It’s not something the Dark Knight can put into words, more of a feeling tugging at the back of his mind. It looks and feels much like any jungle, but Batman can’t recognize any of the plants specifically. He notices a bird flying overhead, but doesn’t recognize its species either. The realization sinks in that he has no idea where in the world he is.  


He stands motionless for a moment, lost in thought. Then, pushing back his cowl, he wipes the sweat from his forehead and lets out a sigh. And without further ado, he steps into the jungle.  


The heat is slightly less oppressive here. After the glaring sunlight of the clearing, his eyes take a moment to adjust to the dim lighting under the tree canopy. The foliage is thicker as he leaves the clearing. Tall ferns and shrubs cluster around the base of the trees, while thick, twisted vines hang down from the branches overhead. Moss, bark, and fallen branches lay decomposing on the jungle floor, forming a thick, dark blanket that hides roots and stones and makes walking hazardous.  


Batman makes his way cautiously through the overgrowth, listening for rustling or other signs of life in his path. A chorus of animal sounds can be heard all around, but no creature has shown itself as yet. He wonders if the animals avoid him because they have encountered man before. If so, perhaps he is not as far from civilization as it first seemed.  


When he first entered the jungle, his plan was to keep to a straight path until he encountered either a body of water or a rise in elevation, some sort of landmark to help him determine where he might be. After roughly twenty minutes of walking, he hears the murmur of moving water.  


Batman quickly pulls his cowl back over his face and drops into a crouch. He makes his way through the undergrowth even more cautiously than before. A water source means a greater congregation of animals, or even people, and there is no guarantee they will be friendly.  


The trees begin to thin, and he can see sunlight filtering down in a clear space ahead. The clearing seems to stretch off in either direction. Its probably a river, running north to south. He peers cautiously between the broad leaves of a fern. He was right, it is a river. Well, more of a stream, rather; fifteen feet across and relatively shallow at this point. It’s safe to say, however, that it widens out further along: a stream this size could never be home to the half dozen crocodiles lounging on the opposite bank. A flock of birds also flutter about at the water’s edge, keeping a safe distance between themselves and the reptiles.  


A sudden movement in the trees on the opposite bank. The birds take flight, cawing loudly. The crocodiles slip into the murky water. Batman scans the shoreline, waiting for the newcomer to appear. What is it that could frighten the monstrous reptiles away?  


The brush parts, and a man – a giant – steps out cautiously. Black pants and combat boots. A black shirt with the sleeves cut off, and a harness loaded with guns and grenades on his chest. A black and white mask conceals the giant’s face, but Batman knows who it is regardless.  


“Bane.”  


The mask hides his facial features, but there’s something in his movements that suggests uncertainty. The juggernaut scans the shoreline opposite himself cautiously before taking another step toward the water. Batman sinks deeper into the leaves and waits – not moving, not blinking, trying to remain unnoticed while still keeping an eye on Bane. Since his arrival in the jungle, he’s had nothing but questions. As of yet, he’s unsure whether Bane’s presence will answer those questions or merely raise more.  


But either way, he doesn’t want to react too hastily. Better to wait and see if Bane is involved with whatever or whoever brought him to this jungle, or if he has more men with him. Besides, even if he’s alone, Bane is still a formidable opponent in his own right; certainly not someone Batman wants to fight without knowing all the facts.  


No other figures emerge from the jungle. Still wary, Bane slowly scoops up some water from the stream and drinks. Just as he stands back up, he looks directly at Batman. Their eyes lock for a full moment. Bane is frozen, apparently stunned to see the Dark Knight here. Then he lets out a growl.  


Batman comes instantly to his feet as the giant charges across the stream. Whether Batman wanted to fight or not, it looks like the battle is on. He adopts a Capoeira stance and mutters a quick expletive, then the giant is on top of him.  


Thankfully, Bane chooses to fight hand to hand, rather than drawing the twin Desert Eagles in his shoulder holsters. Batman dodges the right haymaker, deflects the left, and counters with a karate strike to the ribcage. Bane merely grunts – unfazed – but Batman presses his attack by driving his open palm up into Bane’s chin and firing two rapid punches to the midsection.  


With a snarl, Bane clamps both hands on Batman’s collar. Batman recognizes the clinch, but react in time before Bane’s knee rams upward into his stomach. He groans as the air is thrust from his lungs. It feels as if a wrecking ball has plowed completely through his torso. There’s a lightness in his head and a throbbing in his chest. Worse yet, he’s still in Bane’s grip.  


He seizes his attacker’s forearms and pulls outward, attempting to twist Bane’s hands away from their grip. But his fingers remain closed like a vise, and Batman can feel his weight shift for another deadly knee strike. This, however, opens him up to the last countermove Batman has left.  


Switching his hold from Bane’s forearms to the shoulder harness, Batman drops downward, pulling Bane after him. With his weight still off-center for the knee strike, Bane lacks the balance to counter. Batman rolls onto his back with Bane on top of him. At the last moment, he pushes his foot upward against Bane’s torso and flips the giant over his head, onto his back. Bane hits the ground with a dull thud.  


Both combatants are now flat on their backs, head to head. Batman sits up quickly, wrapping his arm around Bane’s neck. If he can restrict the windpipe long enough, Bane will pass out and the fight will be over. Bane realizes this as well, and struggles to break Batman’s hold or land a strike of his own. His hands grope wildly, finally snatching the shoulder of Batman’s cape and trying to pull him off.  


Batman is persistent, while Bane’s strength is unlike anyone else he’s ever fought. But as they struggle in the dirt, a spot of color catches Batman’s eye through the trees. Bane is gasping now, but still struggling. Suddenly Batman releases his hold, and both fighters roll over onto all fours, panting for air.  


“How did… how did you get here, Bane?” Batman gasps.  


Mask pulled off, Bane massages his neck while drawing in great gulps of air. “Parachute… woke up falling.” He looks at Batman, waiting for the fight to resume.  
Instead, Batman points into the trees. “That parachute?”  


Clearly puzzled, Bane’s gaze follows Batman’s pointing finger. Almost obscured by the thick foliage is a gray cloth, wadded up and cast aside. Its identical to the one Batman landed in. But Bane shakes his head.  


“It’s not mine.”  


Batman picks himself up and straightens his cape. “Bane, what are you doing here?”  


Bane pulls his mask back on with a grunt and stands up facing the Dark Knight. “What are you doing here?”  


“Same as you, I think.” Only moments after grappling in the dirt, both fighters are still wary of each other. “I woke up falling out of the sky with one of those parachutes on my back. I have no idea why I’m here or even where here is.”  


At this confession, Bane’s posture softens somewhat. Both men’s expressions are still obscured by their masks, but they compensate with their best attempts at non-threatening body language. Whatever is going on, its beginning to look like the foes might both be in the same boat.  


Pushing his way through the undergrowth, Bane walks over to the parachute and crosses his arms. “So…” he muses, “there’s someone else out here.”  


“Looks that way,” Batman nods. “And that doesn’t count whoever brought us here.”  


He stoops suddenly to look at the ground. A spot of moss here has been trampled recently, and there a frond has been snapped off a fern as someone walked through. It isn’t much of a trail – whoever the parachute’s passenger had been, they were being cautious – but still it’s enough of a trail that Batman’s keen tracking skills can follow.  


The trail follows the course of the river, but stays within the shelter of the trees. With no other options at their disposal, Batman and Bane decide to do the same. Whoever the mystery person ahead of them is, they can only hope he holds some kind of answers for them.


	3. The Man Who Broke the Bat

They’re traveling south, following the river and the faint trail left by the mysterious parachutist. The river had widened out gradually in the afternoon, and the terrain had slowly begun sloping downhill. The trees are even thicker here, which had made it more difficult for the parachutist to move forward without leaving traces.

Every once in a while, as they move forward through the thick growth, Batman begins to think they are simply tracking an animal. Surely a human couldn’t be this cautious. Then, in a place where the earth is softer, he spots the slightest indent of a man’s boot heel, and so the search continues. 

At one such imprint, Batman – who is in the lead – stops abruptly. Bane immediately draws one of his pistols and scans the greenery around them.

“What is it?”

This imprint is deeper than the others, as if their quarry allowed his weight to rest fully in a standing position. He had stopped here, stood for a moment, watching or perhaps listening for something. After this print, the trail veers abruptly off-course. Batman takes a few cautious steps to the left, alternating between scanning the trees and studying the ground. Weapon at the ready, Bane follows. After moving a few yards through the undergrowth, Batman halts again and kneels to study the ground more carefully.

“Something made him wander off-course,” he explains. He looked around for a moment. “There’s someone else out here.”

Still crouching, Batman moves forward again. Bane follows close behind. The trail is suddenly much easier to follow, as if the parachutist wasn’t bothering to hide anymore. And there’s a second set of prints. Smaller and shallower, but still boot treads. Someone else had joined him here, someone lighter, a woman or more likely a teenager. There is no evidence of a struggle, either. Instead, it seems as if they stopped and talked for a moment, then continued forward together.

Bane’s tracking skills aren’t on par with Batman’s, but even he can read the scene here. “So there’s two of them now.”

“Right.” Batman nods. “They met up here and…” he points off parallel to the river… “started moving south again.”

“So, we keep following the river.”

“Looks like it.”

They resume their tracking, walking in silence for a while. Still focusing on the trail in front of him, Batman can’t help wondering what lies ahead. Whoever they are following may not be friendly, and now they are potentially twice as dangerous. The possibility of combat makes him think of his own unexpected partner, the brutal giant stalking along behind him. Last night, he had entered Arkham confidently, knowing Robin would do everything he could to help him. He can’t be as sure of Bane. That’s not so say that Bane isn’t a capable fighter, in fact he far surpasses Robin in that respect. And Bane seems more at home here in the jungle than he ever did in the dirty streets of Gotham. He’s more animal than man, with a savage nobility that Batman begrudgingly admires. Even so, he never expected to find himself allied with the brutal gangster who nearly took over Gotham’s underworld.

Batman remembers well the events that led to his first meeting with Bane. The city was finally enjoying a period of relative peace. It had taken him years, but he had wrested control of the city from the powerful crime families that had ruled Gotham for generations. Falcone, Maroni, and Cobblepot had all been put in their place. Then the League of Assassins, feeling he hadn’t gone far enough in eradicating crime, stepped in to destroy Gotham. 

Batman had stopped them, and after that the Joker’s wild assault on the city. Scarecrow, Joker, Two-Face – they had all been beaten and sent to Arkham. Things were finally quiet, so quiet in fact that Dick Grayson – the first Robin – had decided to branch off on his own, calling himself Nightwing and claiming nearby Bludhaven as his jurisdiction.

Into this peace came Bane, an opponent like none the Dark Knight had ever faced before. More cunning than Scarecrow and far more brutal than Two-Face. He and his gang had staged a riot in a secret maximum security prison in South America, breaking free and disappearing into the jungle. Three months after their escape, crime in Gotham escalated suddenly. The newcomers started by cleaning out any competition in bloody shootouts, wiping out the remaining leaders of the crime families Batman had driven underground.

Batman had attempted to strike back. Bane’s response was simple, but brilliant: breaking into Arkham. In one night, five years of work in the city was undone, as every homicidal maniac Batman had captured was suddenly unleashed on the city. Bane had waited and watched, studying the methods of the city’s self-appointed protector as he dealt with the onslaught. Only then, with Gotham in a stranglehold and Batman exhausted, did Bane emerge from the shadows in person.

The Dark Knight brings his thoughts back to the present. Reliving the past doesn’t help them now. He still doesn’t know if he can trust Bane when they inevitably find themselves in a fight against whoever brought them to this jungle. But whatever had passed between the masked warriors in the past is best left there until this is over, whatever this is. Afterward, Bane will face justice for his many crimes.

Now Bane places a hand on his shoulder, pointing silently at the sky ahead. There’s just enough of a gap in the branches high above them that they can see a bit of color against the blue sky. Another parachute is coming down, perhaps 5 or ten miles ahead. Unlikely the previous three parachutes, however, this one isn’t gray, but bright red. Otherwise they never would have seen it.

“What do you think it means?”

Batman doesn’t answer, instead resuming his march forward. He’s still more baffled by the entire situation than he cares to admit. A new issue weighs on his mind now: neither of them had heard whatever aircraft dropped the parachute. Even at this distance, there should have been some sort of sound. A mechanical droning to stand out from the jungle’s many animal cries. For that matter, at least some of the jungle creatures should have gone silent as the aircraft passed overhead. Instead, there is nothing, no change. Just a spot of red disappearing from sight in a blue sky.

His query unanswered, Bane falls into step behind the Dark Knight, watching as before for any sign of danger while Batman’s focus is on the trail itself. Even if Batman doesn’t share his thoughts, Bane knows that great detective intellect was hard at work trying to solve the mystery of their current predicament. For himself, Bane prefers to keep an open mind, not jumping to any conclusions but rather letting the situation reveal itself. It is an approach to life he honed during his childhood. 

Born in prison, the child that would become Bane had learned that watching often meant the difference between life and death. Studying the inmates and the other guards, watching their routines, waiting for his moment. His patience – and a certain amount of judicious brutality – had eventually made him the top dog in the prison. But he had wanted more; he had wanted to see the sunlight, feel the outside world, breathe free air.

So he had escaped, he and 36 others. He only took the most ruthless, the most loyal. He had no use for the others. After defeating Pena Duro, Gotham City was the only place in the world that seemed like a challenge. And so he had led his minions to Gotham, where he had once again watched and waited. He had studied and stalked the Batman with the same patience and care he had the guards of the prison, and he had nearly succeeded in making Gotham his own. No, he had succeeded. With the right application of pressure, he had broken Batman’s will. And then he had broken his back.

Ultimately, however, fate had intervened, and the city he had conquered so carefully had slipped from his grasp. The Batman had returned to be the city’s defender, but circumstances had prevented the two titans from facing each other again. Instead, a macabre round of rock-paper-scissors had decided Gotham’s fate; he had broken Batman, only to lose to the fiendish Azrael, who was defeated in turn by the Batman. Honestly, Bane is still shocked the Bat had ever recovered at all. 

To this day, Bane holds the distinction of being the only one to truly defeat the Dark Knight. And though no one else saw it, Bane knows that it has changed Batman forever. He keeps it hidden beneath a dark mask and a heavy scowl, but the man under the mask had died a little, never to face the world with the same arrogance he once had. And if he had ever held out hope for a brighter future, that hope is gone now.

And somehow fate has caused their paths to cross again. Fate, or another puppet-master with an equally morbid sense of humor. Bane chuckles slightly. He’s getting introspective. It has been a long day.

As the sun moves lower in the sky and the darkness under the trees becomes even more oppressive, following the trail becomes difficult. And as the shadows deepen, the shrieks and caws of the jungle become louder and more frequent. Batman is about to call a halt for the night when he notices the last rays of the sunset breaking through the trees ahead. The plant life all around them is beginning to thin, and the trees themselves are spaced further apart. Without even realizing it, Batman and Bane both pick up the pace. They break through the trees just as the sun slips below the horizon.

All around them is tall savannah grass, swaying gently in a slight breeze. The clearing stretches for miles, with more jungle trees just barely visible in the distance. The air is still heavy with humidity, but with the sun gone and the gentle breeze blowing, the heat is starting to taper off. Standing in the waist-high grass but still in the shadow of the trees, Batman and Bane examine the savannah cautiously. Should they go forward, and risk being caught in the open?

After a pause, Bane gives voice to what they’ve both been thinking: “We could wait for dark, then cross staying low.”

Batman nods, looking up at the fading light. His answer, however, catches in his throat. The stars… what on earth is wrong with the stars?

Bane follows his gaze. His mouth drops open.

Now that the sun has finally disappeared below the western tree line, a host of stars begin to emerge. But the alignment of the stars, the very constellations that dot the night sky, are like nothing either Bane or the Dark Knight have ever seen before – and in the course of his training and his adventures, Batman has slept under every sky on earth.  
Batman exhales slowly as the realization sinks in. Their situation, and the challenges they face getting home have just grown exponentially in light of this new information.

“We’re…we aren’t on Earth anymore.”

Still gazing in awe at the sky, Bane slowly sinks down until he is sitting in the tall grass. “Beautiful…” he breathes, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Batman has to agree, in spite of the difficulties this revelation presents. The sky is indeed beautiful. So beautiful, in fact, that for a moment, he forgets their problem and the mystery of how they came to be here. He even forgets the blurred, starless sky of Gotham, which has been his home for so long, he had almost forgotten what a clear night looked like. And as they watch, a pale moon – almost full – joins the stars in orbit.

So caught up on the celestial sights above, the two master hunters fail to notice that they themselves are being tracked. As they sit in the moonlit grass, a hooded figure watches them from the shelter of the trees. Watching and waiting, he sees the starry sky, but his focus is on the fighters ahead of him.


	4. Assassins

Its dark, and Batman is falling again.

Plummeting in empty space, dropping into infinity. His descent halts abruptly, he’s gripped in Bane’s powerful hands. He can see the black and white mask looming over him – staring, taunting. He can hear the muffled sounds of combat in the distance. Everything seems to slow down as Bane lifts him up overhead, then slams him downward with an echoing roar. His back crashes into Bane’s knee. Searing pain shoots throughout his entire body. He wants to scream, but no sound comes from his throat. He’s simply falling again, spinning and spiraling like a broken doll with no control over his own body.

At that instant, his eyes open. The black and white mask of Bane is gone, and instead he sees a different face, this one hidden by a dark, oversized hood and a solid-color, dark mask. Though the dim morning light makes it impossible to distinguish any definite features, Batman recognizes the signature get-up of the League of Assassins. The Assassin’s hand is reaching toward him, as if to wake him.

Batman reacts instantly, his hand shooting up to catch the Assassin by the shoulder. His other hand locks around the man’s elbow. He sits up quickly, rolling his weight forward and flipping the man onto his back. The whole maneuver only takes an instant. In the next instant, the Assassin’s foot hooks around Batman’s ankle. The Dark Knight is once again flat on his back. He’s either still half-asleep, or the Assassin’s reflexes are as good as his own.

As soon as he hits the ground, he rolls to the side, just missing a descending strike from a recurve bow. He’s back on his feet, stance low and hands up. the archer adopts the same pose. With a moment to think, Batman notices Bane standing off to the side, gun drawn and eyes on the two combatants. There are other figures Batman can sense at the corner of his vision, but they make no movement.

No movement, that is, until a teenager in a red suit with black accents steps forward. Batman notices the black bat-symbol on his chest even before he looks up to see the unmasked face of Jason Todd.

Robin steps between the two fighters. “Batman, this is –”

“Al-Sahim,” Batman interrupts.

The archer pushes back his hood and removes his mask, revealing the stern features of Starling City billionaire Oliver Queen. “I left the League, just like you did before me.”

Still suspicious, Batman watches the three remaining figures step forward. “And what about them?”

He recognizes two of the newcomers. The first figure, dressed all in black with the requisite hood and body armor, was his mentor in the League before Ra’s al Ghul took him under his wing personally. David Cain and his brother Arthur were the best the Assassins had to offer, with the exception of Ra’s himself and his daughters.

Another possible exception might be the other man watching Batman and the archer stoically. His face covered by a two-tone orange and black helmet, and equipped with matching armor, Deathstroke the Terminator stands with his arms crossed, a sword resting within easy reach at his waist, and an assault rifle slung over his shoulder.

The third figure is a woman Batman doesn’t recognize. Oriental, with jet black hair framing a white mask, gray armor with a red sash, and a katana in her hand. She looks dangerous enough, but there’s some invisible element that sets her apart from the four Assassins.

“I go by Green Arrow now,” the archer continues. As the sunlight increases gradually, Batman notices the archer’s costume is green, rather than League black. Green Arrow introduces the others. “I think you know David Cain and Slade Wilson. And this –” he points to the woman – “is Katana. She’s not League.”

“And the others?” Batman repeats.

Cain chuckles. “I’m still League through and through, boy. Don’t worry, though, I’m not here on League business. I’m as lost as you are.”  
Batman shifts his gaze to Deathstroke, noticing the obvious tension between him and the Green Arrow. Slade Wilson and Oliver Queen had been rivals since their training days. The fact that Ra’s passed over Slade twice – choosing first Bruce Wayne and then Oliver Queen as his heir – only added to Wilson’s animosity.  


Deathstroke meets the Dark Knight’s gaze, and gives his answer in a flat tone with just a hint of a challenge. “Well, I left the League too. I only kill for money now.”  


Outright laughter from Cain. Batman hates the sound of it. It carries him back to his days training in the League of Assassins. David Cain was the most dangerous man in the world next to Ra’s himself, and he knew it. His students could have easily defeated entire special forces teams singlehandedly, but Bruce, Oliver, and Slade were just children playing soldier next to Cain. Sometimes the Dark Knight still felt that they were.  


Now, here the master stands, reunited with his three prize pupils in a bizarre twist of fate. He hasn’t seen the Dark Knight since the latter had fought his way out of Nanda Parbat. Ra’s had allowed Batman to return home, believing the city’s corruption would eventually drive him back to the League. When it did not, the Demon’s Head had sent Deathstroke with an army to destroy Gotham. To everyone’s surprise, the Batman had defeated the Terminator. Shamed by his failure, Deathstroke had never returned to the League, and so the title of Heir to the Demon had fallen on Oliver Queen.  


David Cain had never understood what the great Ra’s al Ghul had seen in any of them. Personally, he had always thought they were weak, and he still thinks it now. They have skills, certainly, and physical strength as well. But when he looks at his students, the only three who ever had the potential to become true masters of death – the most dangerous men in the world – he sees only three children, playing dress-up. It’s like watching a Halloween party, with a Bat, a B-movie serial killer, and Robin Hood.  


That’s when he notices Bane, still standing there watching, gun lowered but still ready. He sees the stance, the look in the eyes; sees through to the man under the black and white mask.  


And he smiles. This is a real killer.  


As for Bane himself, he senses a kindred spirit in the master Assassin. He has the air of a man who laughs at danger, who relishes any chance to prove his fighting prowess. The other newcomers certainly seem dangerous as well, but they’re younger, and lack the ruthlessness he senses in Cain.  


Suddenly, Katana speaks up for the first time. “Now that the introductions and obligatory size comparisons are out of the way, does anyone know how we all ended up on an alien planet? Or, better yet, how we get off it?”  


Cain immediately takes charge. “I don’t know how we got here, but it seems our first issue is survival. We should head back to the red parachute.”  


“You know where it is?” Bane asks.  


Cain nods, adjusting the rifle slung over his shoulder. “Found it last night, right before I got the drop on those two.” He gestures at Deathstroke and Katana.  


Batman interrupts before either of them can reply. “Why do we care about the red chute?”  


“Supplies,” Cain announces with a grin. “Weapons, ammunition, even some food.” He pats the bandolier of grenades across his chest. “That’s where I got this, but I couldn’t carry everything. Wanted to travel light.” His grin widens as he turns to Batman directly. “Maybe we could get you some real weapons, instead of throwing knives shaped like flying rodents.”  


Batman gives his former mentor an icy glare. It has next to no effect on Cain, but it does stifle Robin’s laughter.  


By now the sun is above the treetops in the east. Bane re-holsters his pistol. All eyes turn to Cain, who shrugs finally, and sets out toward the sunrise, keeping just inside the shelter of the trees. The rest file behind him. As the tallest of the group, Bane maintains a vigilant lookout in every direction. Deathstroke keeps his one good eye on Cain, not fully willing to trust him. And Batman – bringing up the rear – watches the entire group cautiously.  


As they trek through the jungle, the trees seem to get bigger and bigger. Birds and monkeys chatter in the treetops, while unseen creatures scurry through the undergrowth. The entire jungle teems with life, and yet the group never actually sees any animals. Just a constant chorus of discordant sounds, wearing slowly on everyone’s nerves. From his position in the back, Batman can see tensions rising as time goes on. and an eerie feeling starts building in his gut. An instinct that tells him there are more dangerous things than just birds and monkeys watching them. At one point he even stops, frozen, listening. He’s certain he hears a clicking sound in the branches overhead – that same clicking he heard on the balcony at Arkham. He looks up, hears an almost electronic-sounding hum, but sees nothing.  


It’s a little before noon when Cain signals for the group to stop. By now, everyone has their weapons drawn, and they scan the trees anxiously as the master Assassin gets his bearings. After a moment, he gestures forward and to the left, and the procession starts off again.  
They find the red parachute, caught in the branches of an enormous tree, just a few minutes later.  


On the ground at the foot of the tree are military-grade plastic cases, strewn about after dropping free of the parachute. Three of the crates holds full-auto M4s, while two more boxes contain loaded magazines for the rifles. There are a half dozen each of Beretta pistols and Glocks, plus two SIGs and even a Smith & Wesson revolver. Two MP5 submachine guns, a crate of hand grenades, and an assortment of bladed weapons. Along with MREs, water bottles, and med kits, there’s more here than the group can carry. Whoever made the drop wanted them to have plenty to choose from.  


Everyone in the party drinks some water eagerly and tear into a box of energy bars. They haven’t eaten since they woke up falling from the sky yesterday morning. Hunger and thirst satisfied, and kitted out with their choice of weapons, the apprehensions of the morning’s hike start to slip away.  


Batman lets out a sigh, turning the Smith & Wesson over in his hand. It’s a well-made revolver: heavy barrel with clean, bright sights, cylinder tight but not too tight. The dark finish on the metal keeps the gun from reflecting the sunlight, and the rubber grips are comfortable in the hand and won’t deteriorate in the humidity. Caliber is .357 Magnum. With only a few cosmetic differences, this is the same type of gun that killed his parents, all those years ago.  


He sets it back in its case when he notices Robin watching him intently. He knows Jason doesn’t need his mentor – supposedly a role model – giving him ideas about firearms. That is a choice the boy will have to make for himself, when he’s older. For his own part, Batman wants nothing to do with the weapon. He doesn’t need it.  


Cain sets another case in front of him. “The revolver’s a great choice, Bruce. Reliable in any conditions, which is important when you’re in the jungle. Still, if you want something with more firepower…” he opens the case. Batman looks down at the tricked-out SIG 9mm. Ported barrel, Tritium sights, extended magazine.  


He shakes his head, watching Katana test the balance of a new fighting knife.. “Not interested, Cain.”  


“I understand you don’t want to use lethal force when you’re upholding truth and justice,” Cain answers. “But you’re not fighting crime today. There’s no telling what’s out there, and you should be prepared.”  


He nods toward the rest of the group, who have all slung rifles over their shoulders and strapped various handguns and knives to their belts. Still Batman shakes his head. With a grunt of impatience, Cain tosses the pistol to Robin.  


With the exception of Katana, the rest of the group freezes. Any conversation stops abruptly as all eyes turn to the Dark Knight. A steely look in his eye, Batman starts forward; his fists are clenched. For a silent moment, the Bat and the Assassin stand toe to toe, eye to eye. Cain smiles slightly, while Batman’s face remains expressionless.  


“Fine. I’ll take a rifle in case of animals.” Batman turns to Robin. “Find a holster for that, and a couple spare magazines.”  


Robin quickly does as he’s told, as the rest of the group waits for Batman’s next move. Ignoring their stares, he sorts methodically through the remaining weapons. After a few minutes spent inspecting his choices, he selects a heavy-barreled AR-10 and attaches four spare magazines to his utility belt. As he shoulders the rifle, the others finish stowing their equipment.  


“So,” the Green Arrow asks, “are we here to do a job? Is that what this is?”  


Batman shrugs, but Cain nods. “That’s my best guess. We just have to find out what it is. I suspect whoever brought us here will let us know soon enough.”  


The last part at least Batman agrees with, as do the others.  


Suddenly Deathstroke cocks his head, listening intently. “The jungle. It’s gone quiet.”  


Everyone stops to listen. Not a sound anywhere. The treetops, the undergrowth – birds and monkeys and whatever else have gone completely silent. Not even the rustle of movement.  


Then a new sound breaks the stillness. Horrifying in its awful strangeness, yet with a somehow familiar tone. A bestial roar, or a snarl in the distance. The sound carries, repeated by multiple throats. All at once, the team recognizes the meaning in the alien chorus.  


A pack is closing in.


	5. The Hunt Begins

Deathstroke leaps nimbly over a fallen log in his path; moments later, a snarling, thick-skinned mass of tusks and teeth rips right through the timber.  


This is the foremost creature of the pack. Lean, yet heavy with muscle, thick brutal shoulders, and an array of sharp bone spikes framing the skull, lining the back, and protruding from either side of its powerful jaws. Deathstroke and the others take these features in at a glance, over their shoulders as they run for their lives through the jungle. This is the only creature they can see, but a chorus of howls and bellows combined with the steady thudding of monstrous, alien paws indicate at least a half-dozen more – behind them, to their left, and to the right.

The oppressive closeness of the thick jungle trees slows them down, while vines and roots snatch at their ankles. The creatures are unbelievably fast despite their monstrous size, their muscled bulk carried on four powerful limbs. Whenever one appears through an opening in the trees, it seems like nothing more than a dark blur, growling ominously as it gallops along. 

Vaulting over a mid-sized boulder in his path, Deathstroke flips through the air. As he turns, he aims his rifle at the oncoming beast. The automatic weapon fires as he hits the ground, releasing a seven-shot burst toward the creature’s chest.

It staggers for a moment, but still lumbers on. Now it’s less than two strides from Deathstroke. He clambers quickly to his feet and continues running, panting heavily with the exertion. How can the beast possibly take that kind of damage? What the hell are these things?

The trees begin to thin out, and three more of the hellhounds become visible. Their snapping jaws salivate with anticipation. Their enormous tusks slice the air mere steps behind their prey. Feet tearing through the moss-carpeted earth, lips pulled back over razor-sharp teeth, giant muscles heaving.

Bane grunts, swatting low branches out of his path. As he charges forward, he hears the snarls of the beasts behind him. They’re like dogs in a way, moving as a pack and hounding at their heels. Ten minutes of hard running had brought the group to a thinner portion of the jungle. Noticing that their path was almost the same as the one they had followed to reach the red parachute, Bane couldn’t help wondering if the hellhounds were herding them toward a specific place.

With his cowl pushed back, Batman drinks in great gulps of air, filling his lungs as his feet fly across the rugged terrain. He alternates between watching the ground and glancing over at Robin. Jason Todd is one tough kid, Batman has no doubt of that. Behind his mask, Robin’s face is set, determined. There’s no trace of fear in his features; his mind is focused solely on each successive step. Satisfied that his protégé is keeping pace with the rest of the group, Batman darts a glance back at the hellhounds pursuing them.

Yellow eyes set in a leathery face ringed with tusks meet his gaze. The hellhounds are slowly closing the gap. Beneath the yellow eyes, the beast’s fangs almost seem to be leering at him. Turning his eyes forward, Batman charges onward.

The group breaks through the tree line and into the open savannah. Lighter and younger than everyone in the group except Robin, Katana leads the race. Her long legs slice through the waist-high grass with the power and grace of her signature weapon. They’re on the eastern edge of the savannah; she estimates their current position to be just over a mile from where Cain, Deathstroke, Green Arrow, Robin, and herself had met up with Batman and Bane in the early morning. With the hellhounds close behind, the group keeps running, angling toward the center of the grassy plain.

They had faced the sunrise as they had set out for the red parachute. Now it’s midafternoon, and their flight follows the sun as it makes its way for the western tree line, far in the distance. The sky is still light, but a full moon is just barely visible over their shoulders.

They pull up short as they reach the river. A mere stream where Batman encountered Bane, here it is a crashing torrent. Slippery, jagged rocks line the steep bank. A raging current carves the boulders lining the riverbed, and sweeps random bits of jungle driftwood downstream.

Crossing here is out of the question. And behind them, the hellhounds are still coming. 

Cain lets out an exasperated sigh and starts running again, this time following the river southward. The others quickly fall in step behind him. The hellhounds are ominously quiet.  


A hundred yards further, and they’ll be back under the trees. Cain breathes deeply, renewing his pace as he gets a desperate second wind. They’re no longer howling, but he can still hear the heavy breathing of the hellhounds.  


Still running, Deathstroke fires behind him, a wild burst from a Scorpion automatic pistol. A short howl of pain is music to his ears, but the beast refuses to slacken its pursuit. With a disappointed grunt, he discards the empty magazine and rams a fresh one into the weapon. And still, the hellhounds chase after them.  


David Cain and Katana are the first ones to enter the trees, zig-zagging and leaping over fallen branches, rocks, and the trunks of dead trees. Batman vaults quickly over one of the fallen trees, turns and rest his rifle on the log. The lead hellhound charges straight toward him. He takes careful aim.  


CRACK!  


The .308 caliber projectile slices the air and plows into the beast’s skull. It drops onto its front knees, a low moan slipping through its teeth.  


Then, shaking its head, it comes back to its feet and lets out a resounding roar.  


A burst from Deathstroke’s rifle strikes the hellhound’s exposed throat. With a soft gurgle, the beast slumps over onto the ground. One beast down. Out of at least a dozen.  


Batman is already stumbling onward, and Deathstroke quickly follows suit. The rest of the pack is undeterred by the fall of their compatriot. The terrain once again gives the hellhounds the advantage, as they leap effortlessly over obstacles that their quarry is forced to circle around. And by now, in spite of their incredible conditioning, the entire group is nearly exhausted.  


Robin’s lungs are heaving, every breath rattling in his throat. Batman can barely lift his feet, and he doubts he can hold his hands steady enough to aim his rifle again. In all his adventures, David Cain has never encountered an animal that followed its prey so relentlessly.  


Bane – built more for strength than speed – is dragging himself onward through sheer force of will, forcing his legs to keep pumping. The greenery is a haze around him. He staggers a little from side to side, feeling as if he may throw up at any moment.  


Glancing over his shoulder, Green Arrow notices the giant starting to lag behind the rest of the group. Flight won’t be an option for any of them much longer.  


“Bruce!”  


Batman pulls up short when the archer calls his name. Bane has stopped five yards behind the group – eyes glazed over, chest heaving. Green Arrow stands beside him, unleashing arrow after arrow into the oncoming pack.  


“Goddamn it!”  


It’s Cain, coming to a sudden halt in front of the group. He stands on the edge of a precipice: the trees end and the ground drops away. Next to him, the river roars in a mighty waterfall, cascading down almost 50 feet to a large pool below.  


The hellhounds have stopped running, moving in slowly now. They can afford to take their time. The river is to the right, the cliff directly ahead. The pack hems the group in completely on the other sides. They slowly move in, tightening the circle. Green Arrow pulls the last arrow from his quiver.  


Batman seizes Bane by his web gear. “Let’s go!” He drags him forward, right to the edge of the cliff.  


Deathstroke stares at him incredulously. “Are you insane?”  


Batman stops just long enough to catch his breath. “I run around in advanced riot gear and a cape. What to do you think?”  


Then, prodding Bane onward, he jumps over the edge and disappears from sight.  


A moment of silence, then two splashes. The remaining members of the group look over the edge in time to see the Dark Knight and Bane resurface and start swimming.

Katana drops silently after them. Still shaking his head, Deathstroke is the next to leap over the edge. The hellhounds, sensing their prey escaping, growl and pick up their pace again.  


“Holy maelstroms, Batman!”  


Robin’s half-sarcastic exclamation trails off as he takes a running jump off the cliff.  


Cain laughs. Perhaps his students are worth something after all. Still laughing, and holding up a finger to the oncoming pack, he throws himself off the edge and into freefall.  


The archer still clutches his last arrow. He darts this way, then that, zig-zagging to avoid the snapping jaws and wildly tearing tusks. He leaps over one of the hellhounds and races for the cliff. He keeps running even as the edge gets closer and closer, still sprinting as the ground disappears from under him. There’s a waiting moment, sailing through the open sky. The foremost hellhound – more courageous than the rest – leaps into the air after him.  


Oliver looks over his shoulder, sees the gaping jaws flying toward him, sees the outstretched claws. They’re starting to fall, he and the beast together. He fits the last arrow to his bowstring, pulls it back. He hears no other sound, until the soft twang of the bowstring, the whoosh of the arrow. The teeth snap down on the fletching, the arrowhead protruding from the back of the hellhound’s throat. Then, they’re just falling.  


He hits the water.  


It feels like concrete. Concrete that snaps like a bowstring as he slaps the surface, concrete that recoils to drag him under. He’s still falling, the pain of impact deadening his reflexes. Still falling, only now he can’t breathe. Everything is dark. He fights to move, fights to find the difference between up and down. His lungs are pounding like a drum, the echo reverberating throughout his skull.  


A shape tumbles past him. A rag-doll mass of legs and tusks. It’s the hellhound, arrow still pinned though its head. The jaw hangs open, making the hideous face seem more like a gaping mannequin as it floats past. His hands push the tusks away almost subconsciously, his thoughts still on that ghastly, staring face. Then his hands break the surface, his head following their lead.  


He gulps the air in, suddenly grateful just to be alive. He almost laughs, but the rising chuckle hurts his throat. Feet pedaling to keep him above the water, he reaches out to grab his bow, floating on the waves next to him.  


“Oliver! Over here!”  


Its Batman, head bobbing above the water less than fifteen yards away. If the Green Arrow couldn’t laugh before, he does now. Looking at the disembodied head with the pointy ears, and the black cape flowing out behind it. Fortunately Batman can’t see himself right now, or even the Dark Knight might crack a smile.  


The rest of the group are a little further away, swimming toward the shore. A couple minutes swimming, and then the entire group is on solid ground, catching their breath and shaking the water from their hair and clothing. They’re in a small valley, hemmed in on three sides by the cliffs. The pool narrows into a river again, flowing toward the mouth of the valley. Clumps of trees here and there break up the terrain. And less than a hundred feet away, nestled into the base of the western cliff, are the ruins of a stone city.  


Except for a few goat-like creatures (that may or may not be related to the hellhounds), the valley seems empty of life. Still, the group sloshes the water from their weapons and carry them at the ready as they advance toward the city’s dilapidated gatehouse. Cain and Deathstroke take point, Katana and Robin directly behind them. Green Arrow guards the rear, while Batman scans the cliffs above, sniper rifle at his shoulder.  


They pass through the open gateway and into the first ward of the city. Dilapidated stone walls mark the outlines of the homes and what looks like a few shops. A pen for livestock stands off to one side. Both corral and houses are empty, the wooden fence posts and the few remaining rafters petrified with age. No one has lived here for a long time, and the buildings – in this neighborhood at least – are completely empty.  


Bane trails along behind the group. His arms hang like deadweight at his sides, his shoulders slumped. His complexion, irrevocably pale from a childhood without light, has a greenish hue now, and sweat stands out on his skin. His breathing comes in shallow gasps.  


Batman looks back just in time to see the giant drop to his knees, then fall flat on his face on the cobblestone pavement. “Hold up!”  


The others immediately take up defensive positions on either side of the street. Batman, joined quickly by Robin, kneel over Bane and roll him over onto his back. There are no wounds visible. Batman listens for a heartbeat. Its there, and still fairly strong, but irregular. It seems as if the giant’s system is failing. But why?  


Cain scowls. “What’s wrong with him?”  


“I don’t know yet. I –” Batman stops suddenly, looking down at a cluster of needle-marks on Bane’s forearm. “Bane!” He slaps his face to get his attention. “Bane, when was the last time you had Venom?”  


“Ran out…” Bane wheezes. “Yesterday afternoon.”  


“Stay with me,” Batman orders. The giant’s eyes start to roll back in his head. “Damn it, stay with me. Stay awake.”  


There’s the sound of movement within one of the larger houses ahead. All weapons follow the sound. As Bane’s wheezing turns into a rasping cough, the team hears a footstep on the cobblestone.


	6. Nothing But Ruins and Death

Rifle ready, David Cain advances slowly. He’s on high alert, listening for further movement within the ruined house ahead. Another footstep. His finger is just barely touching the trigger. There’s a clop, clop on the pavers. A shape steps out from around the wall.

A furry, goat-like creature stops directly in front of him, apparently just as surprised to see the assassin as Cain is to see him. There’s a moment of hesitation, then Cain lowers his weapon as the goat bounds off amongst the remains of the stone city.

“Relax; it’s nothing.”

He turns and walks past the others until he gets to Batman, kneeling over the prone form of the giant he calls Bane. He watches for a moment, sees the pale yellow of his skin, and the beads of sweat standing out on his bare arms. Batman has peeled Bane’s mask off, and the giant stares unblinkingly up at the sky, completely unable to get up. Cain shakes his head, then holds the muzzle of his rifle over the giant’s forehead.

Batman’s black-gloved hand shoots up, wrenching the weapon aside by the barrel. The Dark Knight is on his feet instantly, glaring at the master assassin.

“He won’t make it.”

“No one dies.”

Cain laughs, but there’s a hint of bitterness in his voice. “Everyone dies, boy. Sooner or later.” He looks down at Bane. “Besides, he destroyed you. Brutally. Painfully. Why should you care what happens to him?”

Batman still holds the gun barrel, keeping it pointed at the cobblestone well away from the fallen giant. Bane’s head has turned toward them, and he watches the dispute almost without concern, as if they were deciding someone else’s fate rather than his own. Or as if he has already accepted the outcome, either way.

The Dark Knight refuses to budge. 

Finally, Cain sighs and slings the rifle over his should again. “Well, what’s wrong with him?”

“The Santa Prisca government tested an experimental drug on him while he was in prison,” Batman explains. “Now he needs a dose every twelve hours.”

Cain’s brow furrows suddenly. “Green vials?”

“Yes,” Batman answers. “Why?”

Unslinging his pack and kneeling quickly, Cain rummages through the bag’s contents. The rest of the team has already gathered around, and now watches his search eagerly. After a moment, he produces a medical case, which opens to reveal three syringes of a bright green liquid. The sealed, well-padded case had been enough to protect the contents even during the wild chase.

Batman snatches one out of the case eagerly. Groaning with effort, Bane extends his arm. When Batman holds the syringe up in front of him, he nods. It’s Venom, and even the dosage is correct. Batman presses the needle under the skin and empties the syringe with a sigh of relief.

Bane nods again, this time in gratitude. His breathing deepens, and his eyes flutter closed. The Venom will do its work, but it will take time for him to recover.

Batman stands up and the circle parts to let him through. Without a word, he walks toward the wall, climbs a cracked, well-worn flight of stairs, and stands on a crumbling battlement above the gatehouse. Its only mid-afternoon, but what a day it has been.

Robin joins him after a moment, hanging back a couple steps to give the Dark Knight his space. Looking out from atop the battlements, they can see the entire valley. After the frenzied chase and the snarling hellhounds, its amazing how peaceful the scene in front of them is. The goats graze peacefully in the meadow, a few bright-colored birds sing from the random trees. The waterfall’s torrent becomes a gently murmuring stream as it flows through the center of the valley. And behind them are the peaceful ruins of a forgotten city.

Batman turns to examine the structures, or what remain of them. The architecture and building techniques don’t seem that different from what an archeologist might find at a historic site back on Earth. The walls are made of stacked stone, with the protective wall around the city being almost seven feet thick. The full height of the wall is roughly twenty feet, though it has crumbled in many places. The buildings within the wall are laid out in a rough grid, with cobblestone streets passing between homes, shops, and what look like stables of some kind. The first ward of the city – the one they find themselves in now – consists of three rows of houses and a small cluster of shops arranged around some sort of central square. This square, Batman can see, lies just beyond the two-story building from which the goat emerged.

Somewhat better preserved than the other buildings, this particular structure stands on the corner of two streets. Its front side faces the central square, while the back left corner is in view of the gateway. All four walls of the structure are intact, though the door hangs useless from a single hinge. The roof is gone, but portions of the upstairs floor remain, providing a covering for part of the great room below.

Batman smiles. They still have a few hours until nightfall, but when the darkness does come they’ll have somewhere to take shelter. Gesturing for Robin to follow, he steps down from the wall and rejoins the group.

Cain, now joined by Katana, is already exploring the interior of the building. Batman and Robin help Bane to his feet and support his weight as they make their way forward. And, as before, Green Arrow keeps a vigilant watch behind them. Deathstroke decides to investigate the alley on the other side of the building.

His assault rifle is still slung over his shoulder. Within the confines of the city, he opts for the military-issue Beretta pistol he picked up at the red parachute. He keeps the wall to his right as he moves along, to prevent anyone from getting the drop on him from his blind side. The alleyway is relatively narrow, perhaps six feet across. The walls on either side are continuous, with each house butting into the next. As he goes along, the ground starts to slop downward, toward a lower area directly underneath the cliff. He turns a corner, finding himself in a more open space. The alleyway empties into a low courtyard; no, not a courtyard. A graveyard.

A half-dozen mausoleums sit in three rows in front of him. Their stone sides are carved with strange symbols he can’t read. Rows of alien hieroglyphs frame bizarre pictograms. He runs a hand over the sides of the first mausoleum. The etchings have been worn by weather and time, but they still tell their story. The people who lived here were humanoid, yet somehow different. Something in their proportions. The pictures seem to depict how each of the eternal residents here met their end, or rather, not just the end, but their whole life stories. Beautiful etchings of harvests, and riding strange four-legged mounts, and raising their families. Some died of old age, others of sickness, or accidents. One was executed for some crime, yet still laid to rest here like the others. It’s a graveyard, but also a tapestry, painting a way of life, a family, a civilization.

Deathstroke knows he is a ruthless killer for hire, but he still sees the beauty in the scene, feels the awe of his surroundings. That’s when he notices the strange marks on the stone.

Here and there, the stone is damaged, but only the sides facing the alley. Small impact craters, like gunfire, but different somehow. Energy-based weapons, perhaps? Whatever it is, its far newer than the mausoleums themselves. Its as if someone took refuge here from some attacking force. Was this what doomed the city? The damage to the walls and buildings could have easily been caused by bombardment, and yet the ruin feels much older than these pockmarks in the stone.

Standing next to one of the mausoleums, he slides his hand over the damage. The edges of the wound are still jagged, not worn smooth like the etchings. He looks down. Bits of rock and dust lie at his feet. The rains haven’t carried them away. The gunfire is weeks old, at most.

Even more cautious now, he follows the path to the back of the graveyard. Signs of the skirmish are more plentiful here. A pile of brass bullet casings, deep brown bloodstains, a two-pronged spearhead broken off between the stonework. Behind the last grave is a withered corpse, humanoid in form, but much too large to be from Earth. Some sort of rifle, the receiver badly charred, lays on the ground in front of him, while a suit and cloak of some strange material hangs on the desiccated skin. Beyond the first body is an older, much smaller one; just a skeleton by now, non-humanoid, with an elongated skull and four arms, and three fingers on each hand. Tatters of green clothing still cling to the ribcage, and a cracked ring – also green – dangles from one of the fingers.

Deathstroke shakes his head. The difference between the age of the remains is odd; the four-armed creature in green was killed months or perhaps even a few years before the other being. A footfall on a loose stone makes him turn suddenly, pistol raised.

Its Batman, silently examining the scene and forming his own conclusions. Deathstroke scowls under his mask. He thinks back to their days training together in the mountains of Nanda Parbat. Bruce Wayne had betrayed their brotherhood. More to the point where Deathstroke was concerned, the Batman had thwarted his mission to destroy Gotham, a failure that had cost him his position as Heir to the Demon, the next Ra’s al Ghul.

Batman looks up, meets Deathstroke’s gaze for a moment, then simply continues studying the area. Kneeling next to the fallen warriors, he slips the broken ring from the skeletal hand, rubs his thumb over the engraving of a lantern. Once a powerful weapon, the ring is now useless, as is the destroyed rifle of the other fighter.

Returning the ring to its owner, Batman stands and turns to leave. “No one should wander off until we know what we’re dealing with.”

Deathstroke crosses his arms. “We’re dealing with someone who’s obviously been killing people who wander in here for a while now.”

“Exactly why no one should wander off.” With that, the Bat walks back up the slope toward their camp.

Deathstroke shakes his head in frustration and follows behind. Before stepping back into the alley, he turns once to look again at the drawings on the mausoleums. He remembers what Cain said: “Everyone dies, boy. Sooner or later.”

Back at camp, Robin carefully removes the magazine from his pistol and starts cleaning the weapon. After the swim earlier, most of the others are eager to do the same. All but the archer, who has already cleaned and reloaded his rifle, and now stands guard from the second floor. His bow and empty quiver are still on his back, but useless without arrows. Deathstroke checks his gear. He has only two magazines left for his rifle, three for his pistol. After what he saw in the graveyard, he’s not sure it will be enough. He draws his katana, and wipes the dirty water from the blade.

Letting his own weapons be for now, Cain has built a small fire, and is now warming cans of soup. He watches Robin from the corner of his eye, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as the boy struggles to reassemble the SIG. After a moment, Batman sits next to his protégé and deftly shows him how its done. 

Cain thinks back to the first time he showed Bruce how to field-strip, clean, and reassemble a weapon. It was a 1911, much simpler than the SIG, but the young fighter had still struggled with it. It was his persistence, however, in practicing the move until his fingers bled that convinced the master to recruit the boy into the League of Assassins. He wonders absently what it was that prompted the Bat to bring not one but two recruits into his own war.

Leaving the others to clean their weapons, Cain steps outside and surveys the street. He looks up to Oliver Queen, the Green Arrow, his most surprising pupil. Queen was much older than the other two when he began his training, and he never expected the spoiled billionaire to take a place beside Deathstroke and the Black Ninja who now called himself Batman. He gives the archer a nod, and walks down the street. What is this city? And how do they get home?

A few minutes later, Batman starts up at a burst of gunfire a few houses away. The entire team leaps to their feet, grabbing their weapons. Even Bane, still sick and flat on his back, fumbles for his pistol. Its then that Batman notices Cain’s absence.

“No one was supposed to leave!” he barks, springing out the door. 

Another burst from Cain’s rifle. Most of the others quickly follow Batman’s lead, leaving only Green Arrow, Robin, and Bane behind. As Batman rounds a corner, he hears a roar followed by an agonized scream.

They find Cain moments later; or rather, what’s left of him. Flat on the pavement, with a pool of his own blood spreading around his body, lies the master assassin. The action on his rifle is locked open, empty magazine lying next to his dao sword. Its what is missing, however, that inspires horror.

Nothing but a puddle of blood lies above Cain’s shoulders. The head is gone, and with it his spinal column. What kind of monster finishes its foe by ripping the head and spine from his body?

Deathstroke snarls in a rage, gripping his katana in both hands. Over his gnashing, Batman almost doesn’t hear the bestial clicking from somewhere in the buildings ahead.  
It’s the sound he first heard in Arkham, then again in the jungle.

He darts forward. “Come on!”

Leaping over the debris in the roadway, Batman races toward the sound. Ahead, heavy footsteps indicate the creature is in retreat. For a moment, he could almost swear he catches a glimpse of an enormous shadow. Just a flickering of the light. Then he turns a corner ahead and finds himself in another courtyard.

He sees nothing, hears nothing.

The others screech to a halt next to him. They watch, and wait, looking for a sign. Nothing but silence. No movement in the fading afternoon light. But finally, a single sound comes to their ears from a distance.

It’s the voice of David Cain laughing.


	7. Legend of the Soultaker

Katana pauses a moment outside the city ruins. She looks up at the crumbling wall, then down at the newly disturbed earth beside her. The others have already paid their silent respects to the Master Assassin, and now move in file toward the far end of the valley. The city is not safe. Shouldering her pack, the samurai woman follows her remaining companions. The death of David Cain was sudden, unexpected, and has cast a shadow over the entire group. One question lingers unspoken, hanging heavier than the morning fog: who will be next?

As they approach the edge of the river, Katana turns and looks back at the city – and the grave – a final time. She knows all too well that wherever the disciples of Ra’s al Ghul go, death is sure to follow them. The group starts forward again, Katana resting her hand on the hilt of her sword. She remembers how she came to possess it.

It was early spring. Yamashiro Tatsu held the hand of her son Akio as the wedding ceremony for her husband’s sister drew to a close. With the sun just starting to dip below the tiered roof of the shrine, the newlyweds lifted their sake cups for a final toast to their families. But just as Tatsu lifted her own cup to her lips, she saw a shadow pass over the roof. She pulled her son closer instinctively, not entirely sure what she had just seen.

Her husband, Maseo, noticed her alarm. “What is it, Tatsu?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “Just a trick of the moonlight.”

She genuinely believed this, yet for some reason her eyes continued to scan the shadows of the compound. As the ceremony came to an end, the families of the bride and groom milled about in the courtyard, preparing to leave, but staying long enough to chat amongst themselves, get caught up on family news, and wish each other well.

Suddenly, the inner door of the shrine burst open, and a shrine attendant fell back into the courtyard, an arrow through his chest.

Chaos reigned immediately. 

The low tables were overturned as some of the guests fled toward the main gate, while others darted this way and that to find their immediate family members.

Tatsu clutched tightly to Akio, as Maseo dragged them toward the door. That’s when they saw the Assassins.

Dressed all in black, their masked faces overshadowed by dark hoods. One blocked the main gate, a black sash around his waist, and a curved katana in his hand. Maseo stopped up short, putting himself between his family and the Assassin.

Another Assassin, this one an archer with a green sash, stepped out of the temple and retrieved his arrow from the chest of the man he’d left dying on the steps. Behind him came another fighter, a broad-shouldered man with a more modern taste in weapons: two suppressed 1911s on his belt, and an MP5 submachine gun in his hands, also suppressed.

It was the Assassin with the MP5 who finally spoke. “We’re looking for a special sword,” he said. “Where is the Soultaker?”

Tatsu’s heart stopped in horror. The legendary Soultaker had been in the Yamashiro family for generations, passed down from father to son. In times of war, it was the first weapon into battle, but in times of peace, it rested in a vault within the shrine. The Assassins had obviously known this, and they had known that the sword would be on more open display for the wedding festivities.

What they evidently hadn’t known was that Maseo’s sister had wanted her ceremony to be as traditional as possible, and had therefore asked her brother to wear the sword during the ceremony.

Now Maseo’s hand rested on the handle of the mystical weapon. Another Assassin, wearing a blue sash and wielding a ninjato, stood next to the Assassin with the sword in the gateway. The man with the MP5 – evidently the leader – asked his question again:

“Where is the Soultaker?”

He added some motivation to his inquiry by placing the muzzle of his weapon to the back of the bride’s head.

Maseo grit his teeth, his sword leaping from the scabbard. The Assassin with the black sash immediately stepped forward, placing his own sword against Maseo’s blade.

The leader laughed. “Well, I think we’ve found it.”

With that, he pushed the bride out of the way and walked down the steps and into the courtyard. The archer remained where he was, his bow partially drawn. Frightened murmurs ran through the guests as the leader of the invaders walked past. Tatsu held her son close, heart beating rapidly as Maseo stood with sword raised.  


The leader stopped just out of reach of the weapon. “Well, do you boys plan on fighting or just standing there?”

No answer, not even a flicker of movement from the Assassin with the black sash. But from her position, Tatsu could see Maseo’s knuckles whitening as he gripped the Soultaker. He was angry, and ready to fight.

The leader knew it, too. She could see it in his posture, his body language as he watched the two swordsmen. “If you’re not prepared to kill each other,” he said, “why do you have such lethal weapons in your hands? What is the point of the Soultaker if you never take a soul?”

Tatsu could see it in his eyes even before Maseo attacked. “Maseo, no!”

A flawless downward stroke sliced the air. Maseo has spent years of his life training to use the legendary weapon. But in that moment he could only stare in disbelief. The Assassin had dodged his slash without even an effort.

He swung again. This time the Assassin countered his attack, clashing the two blades together and pressing Maseo back. Furious, Maseo struck again. And again his blow was deflected.

The ringing of steel carried throughout the courtyard as the combatants wove back and forth. Maseo was certainly a skilled swordsman, and his attacks possessed the strength of rage. But the Assassin with the black sash remained calm.

With the grace of over a dozen sword styles, he countered every one of Maseo’s strikes, staying on the offensive, keeping his opponent on the move. Again and again, he had the chance to strike Maseo down, and repeatedly he chose deflection. And all the while, no one else can move or do anything to interfere, not with the leader’s finger still on the trigger of his submachine gun.

Maseo’s attacks grew more and more frantic. The Assassin was clearly the better swordsman, he was simply playing with him. The pride of the samurai revolted at the thought. A rage like nothing he’d ever known came over Maseo. For a moment, the sword seemed to almost glow in his hands. With a fierce yell, he swung the Soultaker again as he hurled himself at his opponent.

Under the ferocity of this attack, the Assassin faltered, lost his footing, slipped in the unforgiving stones. Down he fell onto one knee, the Soultaker cleaving the air above him.  


He lashed out, in a desperate attempt to ward off the next strike. His sword clattered to the ground, and Maseo lifted his up high. The leader, started by the sudden turn, swung his gun to face the samurai, even as the archer drew back his bow.

But in that moment, the black-sash Assassin saved himself.

His empty hands reached up, caught Maseo by the wrist, stopped the Soultaker’s descent. In another instant, he had turned the weapon. A simple twist, almost too quick for Tatsu to see, and the Soultaker was run through Maseo’s heart.

Tatsu’s entire life poured out in a single scream, as the weapon of an ancient family claimed the last of its line. Struggling in her arms, Akio sobbed and shouted at the Assassin.

The Assassin looked down at the murder, watched the rage fade away in Maseo’s eyes, replaced by cold dread, and then emptiness. Blood ran from the wound over his hands, splashing on the ground. It seemed the flood would never stop. He looked up, looked at the screaming wife and child from beneath his hood. Then, with a grunt of effort or perhaps even remorse, he wrenched the Soultaker free.

The lifeless body of Yamashiro Maseo dropped to the pavement. And suddenly Tatsu couldn’t scream anymore, could barely even breathe.

She feels a hand on her arm. Its Robin, staring at the Soultaker, which she has half-drawn from its scabbard. The boy is roughly the same age her son would be if her were alive today, and she turns away from him to wipe a tear from her eye. The sword drops back into its scabbard. Fortunately, Robin can understand that whatever her thoughts are she has no desire to talk about them, and so they continue in silence.

Moving through the valley, the steep cliff walls on either side have gradually sloped downward, becoming shorter and shorter. The small clumps of trees have also become thicker and more numerous. Now, as Katana brings her thoughts back to the present, the terrain transitions from cliff-ringed valley to flatlands jungle almost before she realizes it.

While burying Cain, the team had weighed their options. The ruins obviously weren’t safe; the many streets and buildings offered attackers too many places to hide, and the cliff at the city’s back gave any sharpshooters a vantage point. And they are definitely dealing with armed, intelligent beings. While Cain’s death had seemed almost animalistically brutal, the body had not been touched apart from the removal of the head and spine. It seemed to be a warning, or perhaps the head was taken as a trophy. Either way, it was not characteristic of animals. And the signs of battle Deathstroke had found in the graveyard indicated a level of technology superior to that of Earth.

There was no way to know if whoever killed Cain was territorial, or if it would follow them into the jungle. What had ultimately been decided – at Deathstroke’s recommendation – was that they set out for a higher vantage point, specifically a mountain Deathstroke and Green Arrow had seen far ahead just before jumping over the waterfall. With no viable alternatives, the rest had agreed.

As they walk, Katana continues to wonder about the phantom killer. Since arriving in the jungle, she had felt as if there was something lurking just out of sight. Something dangerous. The circumstances of the group’s arrival on this strange planet only adds to the notion that they are being watched. Somewhere beyond their vision, someone or something is orchestrating everything. She even wonders if the hellhound attack, that directed them toward the ruins in the first place, was just a random animal attack.

Batman, at the head of the group, puts his hand up suddenly. A moment later, the rest smell it as well. Rotting, putrid meat. The buzzing of swarms of flies is carried to their ears soon enough. Batman moves forward again, cautiously. He parts the branches, and stops short.

The single file closes ranks around him, each person moving forward, then stopping to stare up in disgust. Robin looks for a moment, then throws up on the ground. Katana turns away, unable to look at the gruesome sight for very long.

Batman swallows his revulsion and steps into the clearing. Hanging from the circle of trees around him are five corpses, strung upside down from their feet like slabs of meat. They’re humanoid, but built larger – much like the first body Deathstroke found in the city’s cemetery. And every one of these giants has been skinned. The stench is almost unbearable. He guesses they’ve been here a week, which would put their deaths around the same time as that of their compatriot in the graveyard. 

Katana looks up at them again, coming to an awful realization.

“We’re not the first group to be brought here.”

Batman is still staring up at the carcasses, apparently stunned by the brutality. Finally he nods. “It’s a game. Two sides in a hunt. On our own world, we are the most dangerous mercenaries, killers, and crime fighters there are. We’re the ultimate hunters there. But here we’re the prey.” He tears his eyes away from the carnage and looks back at the group. “And somewhere out there are the predators.”


	8. The Betrayer

The fierce jungle sun is directly above them by the time the stench of the skinned aliens is left behind. The somber mood of the scene does not fade as easily. Robin isn’t sure what weighs more heavily on the Batman’s mind: the death of his former mentor, or the grisly display in the clearing. Or perhaps he’s just being Batman.

The Dark Knight keeps both eyes on the trail ahead, but his mind drifts back. Back to the ring of mutilated corpses hanging from the trees. Back to the grave that he, Oliver, and Slade had dug that morning. And back even further to his final mission with the man who had trained him the ways of the League, the last time he would go by the name Al-Sabh, the Shadow. The Black Ninja.

The spring rains were falling outside the temple in Nanda Parbat. Al-Sabh circled warily, his curved shamshir held in a low guard. He couldn’t help smiling as he watched Talia, daughter of the Demon, flourishing her sword opposite him.

She chuckled, arching her weapon back over her head. “Pay attention, Al-Sabh. Its about to get interesting.”

“One can only hope.” His sword leapt forward, slicing through the air in a sweeping cut.

Talia was the greatest swordsman in the League, second only to Ra’s himself. As such, she made the perfect sparring partner for his successor. She nimbly sidestepped his attack, dropping low and driving her sword up in a counterstrike. Al-Sabh parried, his many lessons with Ra’s and Talia paying off. 

Talia laughed, a hint of mischief playing in her eyes. “Well done. How about this, though?”

She danced forward, her sword twirling in deadly arcs around her. And when she closed the gap between them, her attack was in earnest. Back and forth across the temple floor, this way and that in ever faster and deadlier motions, the two champions battled. Every skill, every trick of the Assassins, every secret technique Ra’s al Ghul had passed on after 900 years came into play. Al-Sabh was the stronger fighter, Talia was just a little bit faster.

Ultimately it was a move Al-Sabh should have seen coming that was his downfall. He moves to parry an attack. Too late, he realizes the attack was only a feint. An almost imperceptible movement, a flick of Talia’s wrist, and he feels her blade graze his cheek. His own weapon was turned the other way, Talia’s came to rest next to his throat. the playful fire in her eyes turned to laughter.

Al-Sabh stood back and wiped the blood from his cheek. “Perhaps we should use blunted weapons.”

“Perhaps you should improve your skill.”

Further banter was cut short by the arrival of David Cain, the Master Assassin. He chuckled. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Oh no,” Talia replied coyly. “Al-Sabh finished sooner than he thought he would.”

Cain didn’t even bother to hide his amused smile. “Well, if he no longer amuses you, perhaps he would like to join his brothers and I on a crucial mission.”

Talia waved dismissively for them to leave. Then, returning her sword to her sheath, she turned and strode from the room. Al-Sabh, the Black Ninja, picked up his own weapon and faced Cain.

The laughter faded from the Master Assassin’s face. “We’ve learned of a mystical artifact, a weapon that traps the souls of its victims. Ra’s al Ghul wants to study it.”

“Where is this weapon?”

Cain smiled. “My favorite place on Earth. Japan.”

The mission was relatively simple. The weapon had belonged to the Yamashiro family, and was housed in their family shrine. Through the generations, it had been passed down from father to son, until the last wielder of the weapon had fathered twins. When the boys came of age, the weapon was given to Maseo. His brother Takeo, feeling cheated, had vowed revenge, and so he had gone to the League for help. Ra’s would retrieve the weapon, but Al-Sabh knew it was unlikely he would just hand it over to Takeo. The fool was betraying his flesh and blood for nothing.

David Cain, Al-Sabh, Oliver Queen, and Deathstroke arrived at the shrine that night. A marriage ceremony was underway, and everyone in the compound was caught up in the festivities. Al-Sabh and Deathstroke were tasked with covering the exit, while Cain and the archer infiltrated the shrine itself.

But why was it taking them so long?

Peeking through the gate, Al-Sabh saw the shrine doors suddenly burst open. An attendant, shot through the chest, fell into the courtyard. A moment later, Queen and Cain emerged.

“We’re looking for a special sword. Where is the Soultaker?”

Sword in hand, Al-Sabh barred the gate, Deathstroke at his side. A family tried to escape, but found their way blocked. Al-Sabh recognized Yamashiro Maseo and his wife Tatsu from the file Cain had given him.

Again the question, as Cain pressed the muzzle of his weapon to the head of the bride: “Where is the Soultaker?”

Seeing Cain’s threat, Maseo became enraged, drawing his sword. Al-Sabh recognized it as the Soultaker from the description Takeo had given. He stepped forward, placing his own sword against the blade of Maseo.

Cain’s laughter. “Well, I think we’ve found it. Do you boys plan on fighting, or just standing there?”

So they fought. It was Maseo who struck first. Al-Sabh saw it in his eyes before he even raised his sword. Then there was the clash of steel. Maseo was a great swordsman, but still a child next to the training of Ra’s al Ghul. And so, Al-Sabh had gone easy on him. This had only infuriated Yamashiro’s proud warrior spirit. Finally his rage grew, until he lashed out with such fury that he drove his opponent back in spite of Al-Sabh’s superior skill.

Al-Sabh felt his foot slip suddenly on the smooth stones of the courtyard. He dropped to one knee. Now, genuinely endangered, his instincts took over even before he knew what he was doing. All it took was one fluid motion, a simple twist, and the threat was eliminated.

The warm blood flowed over his hands, he heard the screaming of the man’s wife. He looked at her in horror, and saw the boy struggling in her arms. The body of Maseo dropped to the ground. The entire courtyard was silent, save for the wailing of the wife and child. Al-Sabh looked at the boy. In agony, he saw himself. Alone in an alley, the blood of his parents pooling around his feet, their bodies still warm on the pavement. He had vowed that night never to take a life.

And yet, there he was. He looked down at the bloodied sword in his hand. This was the prize the Assassins sought: a family’s legacy, a father’s blood. And the weeping of an orphaned son. Robbed of his father just as he had been. Robbed by his hand.

Batman remembers what happened in the following days only vaguely. He had fled Nanda Parbat, taking the cursed sword with him. He had abandoned his place as the next Ra’s al Ghul, forsaken his brothers, even forgotten his feelings for Talia – whatever those feelings were. Somehow he found his way to the stronghold of Lady Shiva, a former ally of Ra’s but now his deadliest rival. He had stayed with her for a time, learning under her. And when he had left to return home, he had entrusted the Soultaker to her, to safeguard until Akio came of age.

He glances at the sword now, worn in the red sash of the samurai woman. Even with her mask, he had recognized Tatsu the moment he had seen her. Obviously, the other Assassins had not, but none of them had looked into her eyes as she watched her husband fall. He had tried for years, but he could never forget her face. Despite her mask, Batman can see she has changed significantly since he had last seen her. With a twinge of regret, he wonders what second tragedy had driven her to wield the Soultaker in her son’s place.

That’s when he recalls the little glances Green Arrow had been casting at her since they joined the group. Perhaps he did know her, at least as Katana. Whether he had recognized her as Yamashiro Tatsu and simply chose to keep it to himself, Batman can’t say. Now a question presents itself: if Katana and Green Arrow met after his own defection from the League, does Katana recognize them as the Assassins responsible for the attack?

As Katana and Batman relive the past, Bane listens to the sounds of the jungle. Something is off. He motions to the archer, who is guarding the back of the line as usual.   
Green Arrow reaches for his quiver, only to grimace as he remembers its empty. He brings his rifle to his shoulder instead.

The entire group stops, instinctively crouching and scanning the trees around them. There’s a rustling to their left.

Green Arrow spots something. He darts into the jungle.

“Queen!” Batman snaps. Pushing branches aside, he leaps in after the impulsive archer. 

Green Arrow stops, crouching down and creeping forward slowly, following the bit of blue cloth he can see between the ferns. It stops, turning one way then the other. Green Arrow listens; he can just barely hear Batman sneaking along behind him. The blue cloth doesn’t budge.

Green Arrow pounces.

He slams shoulder-first into someone. They both roll over in a tangle of arms and legs. The creature shrieks something. Green Arrow can’t understand it, but he recognizes it as speech. He stands up and pulls the alien to his feet, leveling his rifle at his chest.

The alien, a diminutive fellow with pale orange skin and insect eyes, throws up both hands and says something else. It sounds like another language.

Batman bursts through the greenery and stands next to the Green Arrow. “What the hell?”

The alien extends a hand with a calming gesture. With his other hand, he reaches up and taps a device on his ear. He speaks again, this time in a third language. Another press of the button: another language. Twice more, and then:

“My name is Kanjar Ro. Who are you guys supposed to be?”

Batman and Green Arrow stare at each other, then back at Kanjar Ro. And finally Green Arrow answers. “We’re from Earth. We were brought here, and we don’t know how to get home.”

The alien stares at them a moment, puzzled. He adjusts a dial on the device, then gestures for them to speak again.

This time, Batman replies. “We’re trying to avoid the hunters. Predators? Do you know what I’m saying?”

Kanjar Ro nods vigorously. “Oh, yes, I understand. The Yautja.”

“The what?”

“Yautja. Predators. They prove their skills by hunting the most dangerous of other species. Very dangerous. Everyone hates their guts, but nobody do anything about it. They beat the Engineers thousands of years ago. Even the Apokolipsians don’t mess with them now.”

“Hold on. Apokolips I’m aware of. Who are the Engineers?”

The alien waves his hands. “Everyone know Engineers. Geneticists. They seed Earth galaxy, Andromeda galaxy, Pegasus galaxy. Created Wraith, Kiande Amedha, Yautja, humans, Parademons – all the parasites.” Again he nods vigorously. “Predators hunt here, but they not kill me yet. I’ve been here for weeks.”

At this point, the rest of the group emerges from the foliage, Deathstroke leading the way. Kanjar Ro shrieks something the device doesn’t translate and leaps back.

“Its alright,” Green Arrow assures him. “They’re with us. How have you survived here so long?”

Kanjar Ro grins. “Find somewhere to hide. Stay alive.”

Deathstroke regards the alien suspiciously. Crossing his arms, he says gruffly. “We’re heading for that mountain over there.”

Kanjar Ro’s bug eyes follow the pointing finger. When he sees the mountain through the trees, he shrieks again. “No, no, terrible idea! Don’t climb that mountain!”

“Why not?” Katana asks.

Kanjar Ro leans in close to Green Arrow and practically whispers his reply. “Yautja. Predators.” He points to the mountaintop. “They come from up there.”

“Where else can we go?” Bane demands.

Kanjar Ro darts back, staring up in terror at the giant, who’s easily twice his height. He turns back to Green Arrow. “Not on the mountain. But under it…”

“What do you mean?”

Batman turns suddenly. “Quiet! Listen.”

A hush falls over the group. Kanjar’s bug eyes dart from side to side, his head swiveling almost completely around. Then they hear it.  
In the distance, the roaring of the hellhounds.

“No time!” Kanjar shrieks. “Follow me!”

Before anyone can protest, he disappears into the greenery. Green Arrow shrugs and runs after him. With the snarling and howling getting louder behind them, the others see no other options. And so, they race after the alien, deeper into the jungle, but still in the direction of the mountain.

The terrain rises rapidly under their running feet. Before long, they are struggling uphill, still zig-zagging around the trees.

“Over here!” Kanjar Ro calls out. He waves them over, then disappears into a dark hole hidden behind a fern. The others stop short, looking down into the tunnel. Behind them, the hellhounds are getting closer, and a new sound joins the din.

Over the beasts’ howling, they hear the shrill call of a whistle. The Predators themselves have joined the chase this time.

Closing ranks, the team descends into the tunnel. It angles steeply downward for a few paces, and then levels off. By the time they reach level footing, they are wrapped in complete darkness. In the lead, Green Arrow feels along the rough tunnel wall. He can hear the others shuffling along after him. A moment later, a glowstick lights up. 

Green Arrow turns to see Batman holding the glowstick aloft, scanning the walls of the tunnel around them. Turning again, Green Arrow gazes forward. And he realizes their alien guide is nowhere to be seen. He moves forward cautiously.

“Kanjar Ro, where are you?”

No sound comes back to him, except for the echo of his own voice bouncing off the walls of a large cavern directly ahead.


	9. Predators

“Kanjar Ro, where are you?”

Batman tosses the glowstick down the tunnel ahead. It lands about 15 feet from where they are now. In the little circle of green light, the group can see the tunnel open up into a cavern of some kind. A big one from the look of it. They move forward slowly, weapons ready.

As they step into the light, Green Arrow picks up the glowstick and holds it over his head. They are standing in the mouth of a truly massive cave; the wall on either side of the tunnel entrance continues indefinitely into the darkness. Green Arrow steps forward, trying to see further into the emptiness. He looks up; the ceiling rises up at least 40 feet above them. He looks around again. Kanjar Ro is nowhere to be seen.

He spots something from the corner of his eye. “Back in the tunnel!”

Too late. A bolt from some energy weapon strikes Katana in the chest.

From unseen hiding places and rocky ledges above them, a barrage of laser weapons open fire on them. The cavern is now a disorienting, psychedelic swirl of red flashing light. Bolts of visible energy striking the rocks around the group, some dangerously close. From the volume of fire and the multiple shrieks of glee, Green Arrow guesses there are at least ten attackers.

He dodges behind a bit of rock near the center of the cavern, and fires a quick burst from his rifle at one of the flashes of light. He looks toward the tunnel. There’s no way he can get to it through the storm of laser beams around him. Most of the enemy fire is directed toward the mouth of the tunnel itself.

Crouching in the tunnel, Batman presses a bandage against Katana’s wound as Deathstroke and Bane return fire with their assault rifles. Robin stands watch further back in the tunnel, hoping nothing comes at them from behind.

From the light of the gunfire only yards away, Batman watches in horror as the dark stain spreads across Tatsu’s white t-shirt. Groaning, she lifts her head off the rough stone floor and looks at the wound.

“Well, that doesn’t look good,” she sighs weakly.

Batman grunts, using his teeth to tear the glove from one hand while keeping the other pressed against her chest. “It’s high,” he mumbles. “Missed your organs. I think.”

He curses silently as the blood keeps flowing, running over his hands and down to the stone beneath. He’s been in this place before, with another Yamashiro.

Ripping her shirt open, he wads up a piece of it and forces it into the gaping wound. That’s when a flash of light from Deathstroke’s rifle reveals something he hadn’t noticed before: blood soaking the ground from underneath Katana’s back. The blast went straight through.

He looks at her face, pale beneath the mask. She’s watching him intently, and forces a smile when he turns to her.

“You couldn’t help it,” she whispers. “Not now, not before.”

He looks away, unable to think of the right thing to say. She knows. She knows what he did, she recognizes him as the Black Ninja.

“I’ve made peace with my husband’s death,” she continues. “Lady Shiva told me what it was like to serve Ra’s al Ghul.” She reaches up to grab Batman’s arm. “It was not your fault.”

Bane holds his rifle at the hip, hurling bullets into the darkness. It’s enough cover for Deathstroke to charge. He lets out a savage roar as he leaps into the cave. Hellfire seems to dance from the muzzle of his gun, and as he runs he tosses hand grenades left and right, into the hiding places of the space pirates. Explosions and a couple screams. He laughs as he drops down beside Green Arrow. 

“Well, kid, isn’t this fun?”

Green Arrow doesn’t answer. His rifle empty, he fires at the remaining pirates with a Glock pistol. A bug-eyed, orange-skinned body tumbles from a ledge.

“Nice, Oliver, nice. Keep it up; I’m gonna’ get his rifle.”

He darts off before Green Arrow can protest, zig-zagging toward the downed alien. Green Arrow pokes his gun out to cover him, only to hear a hollow click. From the tunnel comes the reassuring rat-tat-tat of Bane’s rifle.

Batman hears the explosions and gunfire from the cavern beyond. A haze spreads into the tunnel from the debris. He’s rolled Katana onto her side, pressing another wad of her shirt into the exit wound on her back. The bleeding has slowed for now, but Katana’s breath is shallow. Too shallow; her face too pale.

The gunfire in the cave slows. The pirates are probably regrouping after the unexpectedly stiff resistance. With the newfound quiet, Batman can suddenly hear the howling of the hellhounds, getting closer.

Green Arrow crouches behind the rock, slipping a new magazine into his pistol. Deathstroke has found a covered position against the far wall, holding one of the space pirates’ laser rifles in his hands. Suddenly, Green Arrow notices the dim light that has filled the cave. Looking up above Deathstroke’s position, he sees that the roof has actually caved in, revealing the sunlight and greenery above. Probably due to one of Deathstroke’s hand grenades.

The voice of Kanjar Ro calls out. “Leave your food in the cave, and you can go without further harm! And your weapons!”

Deathstroke laughs. “Yeah right, your little runt. We’ll die out there with no weapons or food!”

“You can find a way to survive,” Kanjar Ro answers. “Or not. But this is how we survive.”

“If you want to take our stuff,” Deathstroke sneers, “you had better be man enough to come out here and get it!”

There’s a moment of silence. Then, their bug eyes shining out of the darkness, reflecting the sunlight, fifteen of the alien pirates appear, surrounding Deathstroke and Green Arrow with their rifles levelled. They’re all wearing armor, several of them showing dings where bullets struck. Green Arrow shakes his head. Of course they have the advantage; they wouldn’t have lured the group into this ambush if they hadn’t.

In the tunnel, Katana seems oblivious to the pirate’s threats. She’s looking at Robin, a faint smile on her face. With his black hair, and the mask covering his face, its easy to imagine that he is her son Akio. She wonders, not for the first time, what he could have become had he lived.

Her eyes drift back to Batman. “Take my mask off,” she murmurs.

Her voice is so soft he’s not sure he heard her right. He reaches toward her face, hesitates. She nods faintly. Gently, he pulls the mask off, revealing the face he remembers from the night he became a monster. But today she’s smiling. He pushes back his own cowl.

She nods again. “Take Soultaker. If you get off this planet, return her to the shrine of the Yamashiros. That will be your pilgrimage, Bruce Wayne.” She sighs, and her eyes close. “Then you can forgive yourself.”

She goes limp in his arms. He closes his eyes and lays her back gently. The first tear he’s shed since his parents’ funeral falls on her cheek. Batman can’t cry. But apparently Bruce Wayne can.

A hand grabs him roughly by the shoulder. The barrel of an alien blaster is jammed in his face. “Let’s go, pointy-ears.”

He looks up to see the face of Kanjar Ro leering over him. Behind their treacherous former guide he sees Bane, a circle of the diminutive aliens around the giant with their rifles raised. Batman takes a deep breath, fully prepared to tear Kanjar Ro’s smile off his face. Instead he freezes, staring over Bane’s shoulder.

Through the gaping hole made by Deathstroke’s grenade, a toothy, tusk-ringed face watches the scene. Next to it is another, saliva dripping from its massive jaws. Rising from their collars are what seem to be leashes, suspended in the air as if held by an unseen hand. A flicker of light quivers across the surface of… something, and then disappears.

“Come on, hand over that sword and your backpack.”

Two glowing yellow spots appear above the hellhounds. Batman hears that same clicking sound he heard on the balcony at Arkham.

Kanjar Ro hears it too, and his expression changes completely. His weapon shaking in his hand, his head turns slowly around – and then disintegrates in a bolt of blue energy.

Shrieks of pure terror rise from the throats of the remaining pirates. The quiet scene is instantly chaos. The monster dogs leap down into the cavern. Blue beams of deadly light strike down pirates left and right as they try to scurry off into side tunnels. Unseen hunters leap about the cavern, slaughtering with their energy weapons as well as with slashes and stabs from invisible blades.

Bane stumbles back into the tunnel, awestruck by the ghostly destruction. Inside the cavern, in the midst of the carnage, Deathstroke and Green Arrow spray bullets where the apparitions should be. But the unseen hunters stay on the move, dodging bullets and blasters alike. The hellhounds stay back in the shadows, watching their masters kill without interfering.

Deathstroke drops an empty magazine and slaps a new one into place. Suddenly the rifle is knocked aside as an impact strikes his chest. He looks down.

The metal shaft of a spear protrudes from his chest. He doesn’t need to look behind him to know the head of the spear is sticking out from between his shoulder blades. Whatever material the spear is made of, it cut right through his armor.

He drops to his knees. The warm, coppery taste of blood rises in his throat. his hand falls to the sword at his side. He looks up to see two glowing eyes directly in front of him.

Then there’s a flicker like an electric current. Long, claw-like fingers appear, hands wrapped around the shaft of the spear. Then the arms appear, bare and muscular, with greenish-yellow skin. A final surge of electricity, and the full figure squatting in front of him becomes visible.

His killer is broad-shouldered, powerful. He wears a chainmail shirt and iron pauldrons on his shoulders. Mounted on the pauldrons are a pair of sci-fi cannons of some sort. An iron mask, smeared with dry mud, covers the creature’s face, and small green vines are braided in amongst his tentacle-like dreadlocks.

So this is the famous Predator then. Deathstroke chuckles, the spear in his chest making it hard to breathe. “You,” he hisses through clenched teeth, “are one of the ugliest –”

His sword slices upward, severing the creature’s arm. There’s a bellow of pain, and Deathstroke is jerked upright as the Predator tries to pull his spear back. He raises the sword again, this time thrusting the sharp point of the blade through the creature’s neck, just above the chainmail. Impaled on each other’s weapons, Predator and prey stare at each other for a moment. Then, they both chuckle weakly, and fall in tandem to the floor.

Sprinting for the exit, Green Arrow thinks Deathstroke is still right behind him. Over the cries of the dying pirates, he doesn’t hear Slade Wilson’s final chuckle. He only sees the shock on the faces of Batman, Robin, and Bane. Then he jumps over the headless body of Kanjar Ro, and rolls into the tunnel.

He stops short when he sees Katana, eyes closed, mask on the ground next to her. He helped her bury Akio many years ago; now Soultaker is without a master. He looks back and finally sees Deathstroke, once his best friend, then his bitter rival. Now just a dead man, lightyears from home.

The noise dies down. Three of the killers become visible, standing over the bodies of the fallen, scanning the scene through the dark visors on their bio-masks. In the dim light of the cave, the Predators loom over the scene like ancient gods of war. None of the fighters crouching in the tunnel have ever seen anything like them. Their light armor and lighter clothing leave most of the scaly skin uncovered, revealing powerful, warlike physiques. The Predators are muscular, but still wiry and agile, relying on their stealth and fighting prowess to protect them on the hunt rather than heavy armor.

The fallen Predator next to Deathstroke, with the looks of a jungle stalker, is a darker green than the remaining trio. Their skin is more of a muted yellow, and they each stand over seven feet tall. The first and smallest of the three wears armor made from the exoskeleton of some type of large, black insect, and stands over his victims holding a long, whip-like chain in his hands, with a curved dagger at the end of it. While his fallen comrade wears a blaster on both shoulders, this eager new-blood wears one only on his left shoulder. The second Predator, regarding the slaughter almost dismissively, has a similar blaster on his right shoulder. A long, curved blade extends from a wrist-guard on his opposite arm. More notably, he wears a red ring on his finger, its cracked face engraved with a red lantern.

But the most notable figure of the group stands between the first two, and towering over either of them. This Predator is massive, taller and with broader shoulders than even Bane. Its armor is a shiny black, adorned with intricate gold accents. A plate covers the chest area, spikes and shoulder cannons rise from the black pauldrons, and a skirt of black chainmail hangs from its belt. A wrist-blade, larger than the one belonging to the younger Predator in the xeno-armor, is attached to the massive Predator’s gauntlet, orange blood dripping from the blade. On the opposite hand is a black buckler.

Staring at these three monsters – the Yautja, as Kanjar Ro called them – the group in the tunnel slowly back up; away from the light, away from the death. Green Arrow hates to leave Katana and Deathstroke behind, but he reasons they can come back for the bodies when the Predators are gone. Best to stay alive for now. Behind him, he hears someone’s foot crunch on gravel.

The Predator in the black and gold armor turns and looks directly at the tunnel. The entire group freezes. Green Arrow stares wide-eyed at the visor, wondering if it actually sees them.

The Predator in the xeno-armor leaps forward toward the sound. A triangle appears on the wall, three little dots of red light, carving through the darkness until they stop centered on Robin’s chest. The awful clicking sound from the throat of the young Yautja.

And then, the leader – the massive Predator in the black armor – laughs. Laughs in the voice of David Cain.


	10. The Second Robin

Batman had never meant to train a second Robin. Things were peaceful in Gotham, so peaceful that Dick Grayson had spread his wings in Bludhaven, calling himself Nightwing. Barbara was semi-retired. Batman patrolled Gotham’s streets alone, more of a formality than anything else. Apart from petty crimes here and there, nothing happened in Gotham anymore.

Then came the crimewave. In a single night, fifteen mobsters were gunned down. The next night, another twelve. Then Papa Bertinelli – the last of the old-time bosses – was strung up on his front porch in broad daylight. A single word was spray-painted on the door of his mansion.

“Bane”.

The new boss had claimed Gotham as his own, plunging the city – and Batman – into another underworld war. Night after night hunting, trying to learn Bane’s identity, his location, his minions. He was getting close when Arkham’s gates opened, setting the city on fire all over again.

The night that he put the last inmate back in Arkham, Batman practically crawled back to his cave. He was exhausted. Physically and emotionally drained. But when he arrived in the Bat-Cave, he found the monster, Bane, waiting for him. He had been unable to find Bane’s hiding place, but Bane had found his. Laying on the floor afterward, broken, unable to move even to crawl out of the sticky puddle of his own blood. He had looked up at the ceiling of the Bat-Cave and asked himself, “Why?”

Nothing in the world was worth that kind of pain. He’d thought it was what he wanted, thought he could make a difference. As long as he was king of Gotham, no kid would ever lose their parents because of a lowlife mugger. But he wasn’t king of Gotham. He realized he never had been, he was only fooling himself. Crime had continued, the gangs had learned to work around him. And then Bane had broken him. He couldn’t protect anyone.

He only knew one thing at that point: he would never bring someone else into this life. He had already dragged Dick into this, but no one else. Never again.

. . . .

Time freezes for a moment. The laughing Predator in the black and gold armor looks directly at Batman. The laughter of David Cain from the iron mask of a killing machine.

And the red triangle – like crosshairs – sits on Robin’s chest. The newblood Predator slices the air viciously with his wrist-blade. There’s a hum, like an electronic device. Then time starts moving again.

Batman darts forward, throwing down a smoke grenade and grabbing Robin by the shoulder. The newblood’s cannon goes off, a blue burst of energy tearing through the air. 

Robin is hit in the chest; he staggers backward, gasping for breath. His eyes go dark before he even hits the ground.

Batman roars like a wounded animal, as if the blast had torn through his own chest. He seizes his protégé, lifting him to a seated position, desperately trying to drag him to safety. Green Arrow is right beside him, yelling to be heard over Batman’s cries.

“He’s dead! Bruce, he’s dead!”

He tears the Dark Knight away, still protesting. Bane clambers over debris, scrambling for the exit. Green Arrow drags Batman back through the tunnel. And Robin’s eyes stare without seeing as they leave his corpse behind.

Through the haze of the smoke grenade, the newblood Predator – Robin’s killer – fires again.

A burst of heat and pain like an exploding star tears through Green Arrow’s arm. A gasp of pain and horror; then he looks down. His arm lays on the floor of the tunnel, leaving only a cauterized stump attached to his shoulder. He feels disconnected, too stunned to even scream. He’s vaguely aware of the Predator coming closer.

Then a giant hand pulls him upward. Batman tumbles after him, gasping on all fours in the tall jungle grass. What nightmare, what hell is this?

. . . .

Alfred did everything he could, but no field medic could repair a broken spine or cure full-body paralysis. Meanwhile Bane and his army had raged through Gotham, solidifying their control, daring any of the gangs Batman had cowed to stand up against them. A few did, and their fates made the city’s headlines. But what frightened Alfred more than the physical damage Bruce had taken, more than the carnage left in the wake of Bane’s gang, was the fact that Bruce seemed totally indifferent to all of it.

Batman was dead, and Bruce Wayne had no desire to live on without him.

Drastic steps had to be taken. Against his employer’s wishes, Alfred sent Nightwing to London to find the one person who could heal the Dark Knight’s body. Then he sent Batgirl to Tibet to find the only person who could teach him to fight again. And, finally, he turned on the Bat-Computer to find a replacement for Batman in the meantime.

Green Arrow would have been willing to step in and help, but Alfred didn’t trust the hooded Assassin who had staked his claim in Starling City. And Superman seemed like overkill. Going through Batman’s files, Alfred saw only one candidate he thought was a viable option: born into an ancient order of mystical assassins, codename Azrael had resisted his murderous programming to aid Batman in a couple previous adventures, even wearing the cowl once before when the Dark Knight was abducted by foreign arms dealers.

Jean-Paul Valley arrived in Gotham the next day. Alfred had expected Bruce to react in some way to his replacement, but he simply agreed to let Azrael wear the cowl and then ignored both the new Batman and his old butler. Azrael had seemed to understand, however, and got started right away on modifying and enhancing the suit. Bruce had told him to avoid Bane at all costs, but Valley realized that would not be an option once he stepped out of the cave in the uniform of the Dark Knight. A showdown with the new king of Gotham was inevitable.

. . . .

Deathstroke, Katana, and Robin – all killed within ten minutes. Ten minutes that had seemed like eternity, and yet like nothing more than a blink. Ten minutes that will haunt Batman forever. He looks over at Green Arrow, face down, gnashing his teeth together. He sees the dead stump where the archer’s arm should be; it might as well be a death sentence. He looks at Bane. Even the Venom-fueled giant seems shaken.

From within the cave, the hellhounds begin to bark.

Batman listens for a moment, barely hearing the noise over his own grief. But a primal instinct tells him he must survive somehow. His gaze drifts upward. He looks at the mountain, looming over them. Deathstroke had said they needed high ground if they wanted to survive. Kanjar Ro had said the Yautja came from on top of the mountain. If he was telling the truth, that could only mean one thing.

“Come on,” he declares suddenly. “We need to climb.”

He helps Green Arrow stagger to his feet. The archer seems barely aware of his surroundings, but he allows himself to be dragged forward.

Bane supports Green Arrow from the other side. “Why are we going up? the alien said –”

“He said the Predators come from up there.”

“Yes; so why are we going there?”

“Because they brought us here by spaceship,” Batman explains. “And we need a way to get home. And because, right now, they’re behind us.”

Bane laughs, a glimmer of hope returning. “Well, if you think you can pilot the ship, I know I can capture the ship!”

. . . .

Constantine’s spell had worked like… well, like magic. Batman was on his feet and able to walk – with Dick and Alfred supporting him on either side – by the time Barbara returned from Asia with Lady Shiva. That same night, “Batman” attacked Bane and his gang. The entire Bat-family watched the investigation unfold on the news, waiting to see what Bruce would do, if the Caped Crusader would resurface.

Jean-Paul Valley’s attack was ruthless. Seven of Bane’s minions were killed that first night, with nine more in the hospital. The following week was an endless battle of cat and mouse, with Bane and the new Batman fighting over each street and every block. In the brutality of war, Valley’s conditioning took hold again, and he became Azrael, the Avenging Angel of the Order of St. Dumas. More of Bane’s men died, along with civilians caught in the crossfire, all victims of Azrael’s crusade.

With the news just barely audible in the background, Lady Shiva led Bruce through his training again. Taking him back to the beginning, and drilling him into fighting shape. Hours at a time, practicing his footwork, his strikes and counters and blocks. Weapon drills and disarms. He was making excellent progress, all things considered. But he was still not even close to being on the same level as Bane or Azrael. That would take time.

The battle for Gotham’s throne ended when Azrael cornered Bane in an alley in the pouring rain and beat him nearly to death. Spectators and police bore witness to the coup, powerless to interfere, and not sure who to side with anyway. With the bloodied, senseless mass of Gotham’s conqueror at his feet, there was no one left to challenge the armored Dark Knight, who wielded the sword of St. Dumas and an automatic rifle.

Bruce Wayne was out of time. A new breed of justice had come to Gotham.

. . . .

The hellhounds are closing in. Batman can almost feel their slobbering jaws snapping at his heels. He pulls himself up the slope on all fours, Green Arrow hanging on to him with his remaining arm. Bane has a hand through the archer’s belt, helping Batman drag him upward. The mountainside is getting increasingly steeper.

A tree-root clinging to the mountainside gives way as Batman pulls on it. He tumbles backward, pulling Green Arrow with him. Bane’s steady grip on Green Arrow’s belt is all that keeps both vigilantes from crashing back down the mountain. As it is, the tumble gives the hellhounds enough time to catch up to them.

Batman hears the snarl as the first beast leaps toward him. He scrambles upward, still dragging Green Arrow, desperately trying to keep them both out of reach of those dreadful claws.

In its haste to attack, the beast has overextended itself. The jaws snap viciously at the air for a moment, and then the massive bulk plummets backward, slipping and sliding back down the mountain, its wild tusks tearing furrows in the loose earth.

Batman grits his teeth. They’re not even halfway up the slope yet. And the other hellhounds are still coming.

. . . .

Batman wasn’t ready to face Azrael, and they had both known it. To compensate for his injuries, Batman had built a suit of armor to match Azrael’s, though he opted against wielding a sword. His electro-shock gloves and old-fashioned cunning had done the trick instead. The battle had raged across Gotham, from the rooftops to the sewers, and ultimately to the Bat-Cave. The Dark Knight had played safe, outmaneuvering his successor rather than trying to match his strength and speed. He forced Azrael to fight on his terms, gradually stripping away his armor piece by piece.

Then the crescendo. Man to man, without technology, the two contenders for the title of Batman fought it out. And ultimately experience had decided the victor.

Gotham was safe again, though the damage done to Batman’s reputation would take time to mend. But Bane was gone, locked away in prison. Azrael was gone as well, undergoing treatment at Arkham. Peace had returned. And with that peace, Batman began to think about the future. He had fought long and hard, and he had suffered along the way. He wanted to quit, to retire and settle down. But Azrael’s reign of terror had shown him he couldn’t leave the safety of Gotham to anyone else. And so for the next two years, he protected Gotham alone. He faced another of Joker’s escapes, then the return of Scarecrow. And then one night, a kid had stolen the Batmobile.

. . . .

Batman, Green Arrow, and Bane crawled over a rise and stopped to catch their breath. They had put a gap between themselves and the hellhounds, and now this narrow ledge halfway up the mountain offered a moment’s rest. Only a moment, however, as they could still hear the beasts howling below.

Laying flat on his back, looking up at the blue sky with his cowl pushed back from his eyes, Batman was silent for a moment. His thoughts heavy with grief, he remembered what he had said when he had finally agreed to train Jason Todd to be the new Robin.

It was the first time he had taken his mask off in front of him. Standing there, in the Bat-Cave, the Dark Knight had made the street urchin with the mischievous grin a promise.

“I’m going to teach you everything I can. And, no matter what happens, or what maniac we face out there, I will always have your back.” His mind’s eye drifted from the safety and familiarity of the Bat-Cave to the desolate stillness of the cave far below him now. Jason Todd was down there, slowly going cold.

“I won’t let anything happen to you.”


	11. The Ascent

On a ledge halfway up the mountain, Bane rises slowly to his feet. His vision has begun to blur, and he’s breathing far more heavily than he should be, even after the brutal trek up the mountainside. He opens one of the pouches on his belt, pulling out a syringe of Venom and popping the cap off. Taking a deep breath, he jabs the needle into his forearm, pressing the contents into his bloodstream with a low grunt. 

The Venom takes hold, spreading power throughout his body. Hundreds of thousands of little cellular powerplants all firing at once. He breathes out slowly, feeling the strength surge through him. His muscles seem to stretch, almost trying to break through the skin. After a moment, the wave passes, leaving him feeling simply invincible, ready for battle once more. 

Batman stands up, helping the Green Arrow to his feet. Bane shakes his head at the sight of the injured archer. Only a blackened, cauterized stump remains where his arm had been, effectively placing his days as an archer solidly in the past. In Bane’s opinion, the future of the Starling City vigilante is irrelevant, as he doubts a single arm is enough to survive this world the trio find themselves in. after all, as was just painfully proven, this planet belongs to the Predators. Earth’s finest are nothing more than children here.

Strangely enough, he finds himself admiring the Yautja. They were there all the time, and no one in the group ever saw them, ever really felt their presence. True, there had been points when he and the others suspected they weren’t entirely alone, but they had never suspected what was really all around them. The Yautja had stalked them carefully, noting their strengths and weaknesses, finding out who the leader was. David Cain had seemed to be the alpha amongst the humans, so the leader of the Yautja was entitled to him as the first kill. After that, it was simply open season for a pack, or perhaps a clan, of the most deadly hunters the ferocity of space had to offer.

Bane looks down at the needle, still in his hand. It was the Yautja who had left them the weapons and food, had even supplied Venom for his own special needs. They had done everything they could to prepare the group before the coming storm. And, he reasons, they could have easily killed them all while they were unconscious on their way here from Earth.

Everything, from the way David Cain was killed to what Kanjar Ro had to say about the Yautja, had depicted a deadly species that hunted other races as a way of testing their worth. And that is something Bane can appreciate.

The hellhounds are howling as they clamber up the steep incline toward their victims. “Come on,” Bane challenges the vigilantes, “get moving unless you want to be dog-meat!”

His energy restored by the Venom, and a small taste of a gambler’s thrill in the back of his throat, Bane looks up at the ascent above them. The going is too steep to climb safely without the use of all four limbs – a luxury the Green Arrow no longer has. With an impatient grunt, Bane hoists the Green Arrow onto his back and presses on up the mountain.  


Batman pauses a moment, watching the giant climb with the archer clinging to his back. He knows how much Bane values strength and survival. Surprised that Bane would burden himself with Green Arrow at all, he wonders how long it will be before the giant decides that Oliver is slowing them down and leaves him behind.

The crunching sound of loose rock. Batman looks back; the hellhounds are almost to the ledge. Through the trees, he thinks he sees the outline of a Predator at the foot of the mountain. He turns and follows after Bane. After all, best to handle things one problem at a time. If the hellhounds tore them to pieces, the Predators weren’t really a problem, after all.

Bane pulls himself from handhold to handhold. A root, a buried rock, a sapling clinging to the mountainside – whatever he can find to support some of his weight as his boots combat the steep terrain taking him either to safety or his death. Its safe to assume there are more Predators on the ship; at least one to watch over things.

He grunts, repositioning the archer on his back. Still in shock and with only one arm, Green Arrow is struggling to hang on to consciousness, let alone his grip on Bane’s shoulder harness. His days as a great warrior are over, and Bane wonders why he even bothers to drag him along. With every minute, the gap between the Predators and their prey shrinks a little. Even with the aid of his Venom, carrying a 200-pound man up a steep incline is not an easy feat. To do so, only to face the perfect hunter afterwards in a fight to the death seems foolish.

Beneath them, the Predator leader stoops forward to step out of the cave and into the sunlight. The dark visor turns upward, gazing up the mountain. The newblood Predator in the xeno-armor darts up the slope after the escaping figures, but stops and looks back to his leader as if waiting for permission. The lead Predator doesn’t give it right away; still angry with the young warrior for gunning down the child. It would have been better to fight hand to hand, as fair play dictated. But the newblood is young and impatient, so his mistake is overlooked this time. 

The long blades on the leader’s gauntlet retract somewhat, allowing the scaly fingers to reach up and cup the Predator’s chin as the eyes followed the path the three humans were taking up the mountain. A thought occurred to the killer suddenly, making the head tip back as the inhuman clicking sound rose into the air again.

A sudden burst of movement. The lead Predator bounds forward, leaping over rocks and logs as it begins the climb. Surprised at first, the remaining two Yautja quickly follow behind their leader. After days spent stalking with the aid of their cloaking devices, the hunt is rapidly approaching the grand finale.

Looking over his shoulder, Batman notices the Predators starting the climb. A more immediate concern, however, are the hellhounds rapidly gaining on their quarry. Bane recognizes the threat as well, and scrambles in an effort to find some sort of solid footing before the beasts close the distance completely.

The ascent levels off somewhat. The three fugitives find themselves on a flat, grassy area with another steep incline above them. Batman helps Bane lower Green Arrow to the ground, placing the Soultaker blade within reach of the archer’s remaining hand. He then takes his place beside Bane, just as a trio of tusked snouts come into view.

Still far below both the humans and the hellhounds, the lead Predator stops climbing for a moment and pulls the bio-mask off, revealing a face that is distinctly inhuman, yet also somehow different from the features of the other Yautja. Like any other of the species, the face is blocky with a heavy, pronounced bone structure. Yet the features seem more angular than most warriors, with a softer expression capable of both cruelty and compassion. Combined with the powerful but regal bearing, the Yautja leader seems somehow almost matriarchal. Her yellow eyes look back to the two warriors following behind her, then she turns to glare up the mountainside. But her anger seems to be directed at the hounds rather than at the humans. Sharp-tusked mandibles spread in a low snarl, as the leader reaches for something on her belt.

The shrill call of a whistle is heard. Up on the ledge, the hellhounds stop in their tracks, as if obeying a command from their Yautja masters. But with the scent of blood still in their nostrils and the thrill of a chase under their feet, the hellhounds soon disregard the instruction, baring their fangs and throwing themselves at their quarry. Batman sidesteps, allowing the first set of tusks to pass harmlessly by before wrapping both arms around the creature’s neck with the sharp tusks pointed safely away from him.

The hellhound thrashes on powerful limbs, his claws not quite able to reach the Dark Knight. He tightens his grip, constricting the beast’s airflow much as he did with Bane when they first found themselves in the jungle together. But this time, instead of choking until his assailant passes out, he shifts his weight suddenly, twisting the creature’s massive head away from its body. He’s rewarded by the sound of crunching bone, and the hellhound goes silent and still.

Green Arrow rolls out of the way as a hellhound charges him. Twisting back around suddenly, he braces himself with his leg and drives Katana’s blade through the hellhound’s neck. The razor-sharp blade buries itself in the beast’s torso, not stopping until the katana’s hilt collides with the hound’s shoulder. With a dull thud, the creature drops to the ground, nearly wrenching Soultaker from Green Arrow’s grasp.

The last of the three hellhounds has hurled himself at Bane. By now, however, the Venom-fueled giant is tired of being the prey. Meeting the creature’s roar with one of his own, he faces the attack head-on, seizing the hound by its horns and throwing it against the ground. A yelp merges with a snarl as the beast attacks again. Again Bane catches hold of the tusks ringing the brutal skull. He screams directly in the creature’s face, as it struggles in his grip and snaps its jaws. Then, his enormous muscles quivering with the effort, he pulls the tusks in opposite directions. As Batman stands up after breaking the neck of his own hellhound, he can only stare with wide eyes as Bane rips the beast in half from snout to tail.

The Yautja warriors stop short as the blood-spattered giant stands above them. With a final, triumphant roar, he lifts his arms up, holding one side of the hellhound in each hand for the Predators to see. One warrior remains impassive at the gory sight, while the newblood recoils with a savage shriek. The leader, however, merely laughs at the sight. Her yellow eyes dance with anticipation. She will kill the giant herself. She throws aside her armor in order to move faster, and starts climbing again.

Bane drops the hellhound and turns back to Batman and the Green Arrow. “We’re not going to outrun them,” he says, his breathing heavy as he wipes the blood from his face. He points to Green Arrow. “He’s slowing us down too much.”

Green Arrow stands up, Batman moving to support him for the next portion of the climb. Bane shakes his head, noticing the ex-archer’s pale skin, shaking knees, and the sweat glistening on his face and arms.

“He’ll never make it, Batman.”

Batman refuses to answer. His jaw set, he takes a step upward again, practically dragging Green Arrow along with him.

“Fine,” Bane mutters, pushing past them. “I’ll deal with whoever is on the ship. But then I’m getting off this planet, whether you two make it or not.” 

And with that, Bane climbs upward, quickly leaving the others behind.

Batman struggles with the weight of Green Arrow leaning on his shoulder. The footing is treacherous, and Green Arrow seems unable to fully focus on the terrain. Keeping his attention on the climb ahead of them, Batman can’t even look back to see how close the Predators are getting. His weary nerves start to play tricks with him; he imagines the dark masks and sharp blades just over his shoulder.

But, gritting his teeth, he keeps climbing. Green Arrow helps as well as he can, digging deep into his willpower reserves. His mind, nearly delirious, wanders back to that horrible island. Robbed of his father and unable to communicate with the outside world, Oliver Queen had learned to survive alone for two years before a ship appeared. The Amazo had brought even more horrors to the island called Purgatory, but it had also reunited him with Sara Lance, introduced him to Nyssa al Ghul, and led him to the League of Assassins.

Now, once again in a jungle with little chance of survival and a horrible death literally over their shoulders, Oliver can only mutter one word to keep himself from blacking out: “Shengcun.”

Batman nods, recognizing the Mandarin word for “survive”. He looks up at the unforgiving slope above them. Bane has disappeared in the trees, on his way to the Predators’ spacecraft they can only hope is there and able to take them away from this planet. Below them are the Predators themselves, hurrying to close in on them. No doubt they’ve recognized the humans’ plan.

Against these odds, Batman can only shrug and keep climbing. “We’ll survive, Al-Sahim. We’ll survive somehow.”

He can still see Robin, Katana, and Slade laying dead inside the cave. There’s a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he doesn’t even believe his own assurances.


	12. Into the Predator's Den

Batman’s breathing is ragged, his throat parched from the climb. His entire body aches. The rough mountain face has ripped his gloves to shreds, leaving his fingers bloodied. The same goes for his knees. He staggers along on all fours, dragging Green Arrow with him.

He stops to catch his breath as he realizes he’s on flat ground again. Green Arrow pulls away from him, trying to stand up. Batman looks around. Unlike before, this isn’t a narrow ledge they now find themselves on. instead, it’s a large, open valley on top of the mountain, ringed by a semi-circle of much smaller, irregularly-shaped peaks. At the center of this circle, gazing out across the tops of the jungle trees below, is a spaceship.

Green Arrow finds his feet, and stares in awe at the ship. Its strangely beautiful, familiarly aerodynamic yet strangely alien at the same time. The nose of the ship rests lightly on the ground, while the hull swoops up and back toward the rear of the ship. Long, sweeping indentations accentuate the ship’s graceful curves, while also providing a somewhat menacing sense of depth. The smooth plating seems designed to deflect missiles, while the metal itself seems thick enough to withstand any conventional bombardment. At the rear of the ship, large rearward thrusters on either side of the ship are rotated downward to serve as landing gear. All in all, the ship exudes an aura of grace and power, a weapon of deadly precision. The perfect vessel for the greatest hunters in the known universe.

Apart from the ship, the valley seems deserted. No animals, no plants, no Predators.

After catching their breath, Batman and Green Arrow tread forward cautiously. There may not be any of the Yautja in sight, but they’ve already seen the aliens use some sort of cloaking technology. Adding to their concern is the fact that Bane seems nowhere to be found either.

Green Arrow grips Soultaker, Katana’s sword, in his remaining hand. Batman lost his rifle during the climb, but he holds a Batarang at the ready as they move toward the rear of the ship. Here they find the entrance, with a lowered ramp leading up to what looks like a cargo bay. There’s still no sign of either Bane or any sort of Yautja sentry as Green Arrow and Batman climb the ramp and step inside the ship.

On closer inspection, what had seemed to be a cargo bay now appears to be some sort of medical station, with a couple of operating tables in the center, along with various machines neither Batman nor Green Arrow can guess the use of. Against the walls on either side, however, are large, upright canisters made of reinforced glass with a glass door on the front. Tubes feed into the canisters, possibly to sustain a passenger in stasis. Batman realizes how they were brought to the planet with no memory of their trip through space. Seven of the canisters stand open, and seem to have been used recently. 

Seven canisters for seven human fighters, turned loose in the jungle to serve as game animals for the Predators.

Green Arrow puts a hand against the glass, steadying himself as he looks around the chamber. His gaze finally settles on a door at the far end of the room, which is open to the room beyond. Batman notices his gaze, and nods toward the door. Gritting his teeth, Green Arrow nods in return. Together, the duo makes their way cautiously toward the next chamber.

Batman takes a step into the second room. His black boots make no sound on the soft carpet inside. The room is mostly dark, but with patches of light here and there from glowing panels overhead. Like the first chamber, there’s no sign of anyone here in the room. Once fully inside the door, the Dark Knight looks around in some surprise. While the medical area just inside the entrance ramp was relatively spartan and impersonal, this second area appears much more lived in. The dark carpet underfoot is worn with the paths of heavy boots. Dust lurks in the darker corners, but is noticeably absent at the center of the room. Here large, thronelike seats are draped with the hides of unknown animals. The fur of mammals, the scales of reptiles, some with enormous talons still hanging from their paws. The seats themselves form an irregular circle, a sort of lounging area with a table in the center. A setup that looks like a game waits on the table, interrupted.

Green Arrow’s gaze is drawn to the walls, however. Or rather, the displays on them. On the wall to the left of the entry is a massive skull, easily a foot across at the eyes, with long horns curving forward from the temples, and a narrow lower jaw hanging open to reveal three rows of serrated, razor-sharp teeth. Another row of teeth lines the upper jaw, which seems to be grinning almost devilishly beneath the enormous, empty eye sockets. Above the ghoulish face, a third horn rises from the base of the skull and curves forward over the head. 

Next to the first is another skull, this one much narrower than the first, and elongated. The back of the skull must have extended well behind the creature’s shoulders when it was alive. And while the skull itself is smaller and narrower than that of the three-horned creature, it is framed by a large, bony frill – like that of a triceratops. This was probably a protective feature, indicating that the creature walked on all fours, or at least leaned forward, probably like a tyrannosaurus. And like an ancient dinosaur, the creature’s jaw is lined with sharp fangs. But unlike any dinosaur on Earth, a secondary, extendable jaw rests inside the creature’s mouth.

These first two skulls seem to form the centerpiece of this particular display. Around it are arranged a handful of smaller skulls. One looks like the frilled creature with the extendable inner jaw, but is smaller and lacks the distinctive frill. A couple of the skulls appear to be human, though one has fangs set in the upper jaw. Green Arrow can’t help but wonder if the second formerly belonged to his one-time trainer, David Cain. Next to it is a skull that looks somewhat human as well, only larger, and with strange ridges on the forehead.

Batman studies another display on the opposite wall, to the right of the door they entered. The centerpiece of this display is a skull roughly twice the size of a human’s. Unlike a human, however, this particular creature lacked eyes, instead having exaggerated ear canals. Apparently, this creature had an exoskeleton as well as the normal internal skeleton. 

Though the flesh and brain matter have been removed, the external plates have been reattached to restore the creature’s original appearance. The eyeless monster continues the theme of sharp teeth, with a thick row of needlelike fangs in the upper and lower jaw.

Batman recognizes the next skull. The square jaw, sloping forehead, and toothed mandibles mark the creature as a Yautja, though much larger than the standard and almost as large as the one in the black armor. Apparently the Predators sometimes hunt their own.

There are other skulls here as well, a few human – or at least vaguely human – and some almost impossible to describe. There are a few trinkets as well, like a handle for some kind of energy weapon. There’s no trigger, so Batman guesses it must be some sort of melee weapon, though he can’t see how to turn it on. There's also a hockey mask with dried blood streaked over it like war paint, and a heavy-bladed machete hanging next to it.

Batman runs his fingers over the mask, apparently lost in thought. “So this is why he stopped killing,” he muses under his breath.

Standing in the center of the room, Green Arrow looks slowly around before turning to Batman. “What is all this?”

The Dark Knight thinks of Joe Chill’s revolver, Joker’s card, and Mr. Freeze’s original freeze-gun, along with over a dozen other weapons, costumes, and trinkets encased in glass in the Bat-Cave. 

“This,” he says finally, “is a trophy room.” He gestures toward the array of skulls. “Tokens of their victories.”

Green Arrow places his hand over the stump of his severed arm, feeling a twinge of phantom pain from his missing hand. He looks at the trophies, attempting to mentally reconstruct what kind of horrific creatures the skulls once belonged to. “Monsters,” he mutters. He turns back to Batman. “And the Predators see no difference between them and us. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

Batman’s eyes narrow. “Wonder about what?”

“What kind of monsters we are.”

Batman can’t think of the right response. He remembers the many lessons of Ra’s al Ghul, he remembers Maseo’s blood on his sword. Since returning to Gotham and assuming the role of Batman, he had worked tirelessly to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. But still, he sometimes wondered if he wasn’t just finding an outlet for the violence inside himself, a violence the League had cultivated, turning him into a deadly weapon. Perhaps even a monster.

He can’t think of an answer for Oliver, and so he says nothing. Instead, he steps away from the Predator’s display, and approaches the next door.

He stops short, Green Arrow right behind him. There’s blood on the floor here. Green blood.

They’re standing in a narrow corridor, with doors on either side leading to other rooms. A trail of green blood leads down the hall. Ahead of them, on the wall to their left, is a bloody handprint. And this blood is red.

Bane.

Still unarmed, Batman and Green Arrow push forward all the same. They pass a door nearly broken off its hinges; beyond it there’s a sharp dent in the wall. A bullet casing on the floor, a splatter of green blood on the wall. Further on is a broken knife, laying in a puddle of red.

The door at the end of the hallway has been knocked completely off its hinges, laying on the floor of the room beyond with smears of both red and green on it, plainly visible thanks to the natural light spilling in from a wraparound window. From inside the room, they can hear ragged breathing.

Crouching low, ready for an attack, Batman steps through the doorway. It’s the control room. There’s a row of consoles and machinery beneath the massive window, along with two chairs facing the sunset outside. A Predator lays motionless directly ahead of them, slumped against one of the chairs. His mandibles are peeled back in a final scowl. The trail of green blood ends in a puddle around him, with a thick-bladed Bowie knife driven into his chest.

“Took you… long enough.”

Both Batman and the Green Arrow turn toward the voice. Just inside the door, facing the dead Predator, is Bane. He’s sitting on the floor; his giant frame is slumped over, propped up only by a cabinet behind him. Blood is smeared on the wall behind him, puddled on the floor around him. Red blood, his own blood. Cuts and slashes zig-zag across his forearms and torso, the marks of the Predator’s wrist-blade. Snapped off its gauntlet, the blade is now stuck in Bane’s chest.

He looks down at it as if it were the most natural thing in the world for someone to have a foot-long blade protruding from their body. Then, grinning weakly, he turns to Batman. 

“I told you I’d take the ship. I beat him, Bat. I beat him.”

The grin fades as the Venom-fueled giant fights back a wave of pain. Batman kneels beside him, examining the wound. Bane reaches up to grab the broken piece of metal in his chest, but Batman stops his hand.

“I don’t have the equipment to stop up that wound,” he says. “If you pull that blade out, you’ll bleed to death.”

Bane sighs, almost sounding exasperated, and lets his bloodied hand fall to his side.

Batman turns to look up at Green Arrow. Weak from blood loss and the climb, and still in shock from the loss of his arm and gritting his teeth through the pain, Oliver is on the brink of collapse. Batman can see the first signs of defeat creeping into the archer’s eyes.

He stands up just as Green Arrow stumbles forward. Catching him before he can fall, Batman helps him toward the front of the room and lowers him into one of the chairs facing the controls.

“You once said you could fly anything,” Batman tells him. “We need you to figure out these controls and get us out of here while I head back to the medical bay.”

Green Arrow sits up as well as he can in the pilot’s seat. “Okay.”

At that moment, Batman’s ears prick up. There’s a footstep behind him.

Bane shouts, “Incoming!”

Batman spins toward the doorway, just in time to see the lead Predator in her black armor charging straight toward him.


	13. Batman vs. Predator: The Final Showdown

The impact feels like a semi-truck. 

Batman reels back as the Predator plows into him, his torso folded around her shoulder, his feet lifted completely off the ground. He feels weightless for a moment, then he crashes down to the floor.

He senses the next attack even before he sees it. His head jerks to the side, a split second before the Predator’s wrist-blade stabs the floor. He rolls out of the way as the blade crashes down again. He knows he has to get to his feet if he wants to stand a chance. A foot connects with his ribcage, sending him crashing into the control console. That’s a cracked rib.

He looks up, catches Green Arrow’s eye. The archer nods, tossing him the Yamashiro katana. Soultaker slices through the air, coming to rest in Batman’s grip just as the Predator swings.

The two blades clash against each other. Sparks fly in the dim light of the cabin. With a flick of the wrist, the Predator breaks the grapple, spinning to throw a punch with her other hand. Batman dodges with only a hairbreadth to spare, landing in a kenjitsu stance behind the Predator. She spins to meet him with equal speed, slashing with her blade. Batman deflects, but the force of the blow still pushes him back toward the door. The fading light outside the window makes it difficult to see, but Batman still notices the battle-lust in the Predator’s eyes.

Bane makes an effort to get up. Spotting him from the corner of his eye, Batman grits his teeth. “Stay down, Bane. I’ve got this.”

Sword at the ready in front of him, the Dark Knight faces the Predator. She actually seems to smile through her snarl, as if looking forward to a challenge. Batman exhales slowly, forcing himself to focus. He knows how dangerous this Predator is; after all, she killed David Cain, and he was arguably a better swordsman than his one-time student. As if to reinforce his concerns, the Predator laughs like she did before. Once again, it’s the harsh, slightly mocking laugh of Cain.

The sound sets Batman’s nerves on edge. “That’s enough of that!”

He swings his sword. The Predator meets his attack, and there’s a flurry of blows which do little damage to either side. The cramped control room hinders both combatants from getting a full swing with their long blades. Recognizing this, Batman allows the Predator’s relentless attacks to push him back into the hallway. The last things he sees of the control room is Bane still trying to stand, and Green Arrow studying the controls. Then the walls close in on either side of him and he’s alone, in a narrow space with the universe’s most dangerous hunter.

There’s even less space to wield their blades here. Unable to get the full effect from her weapon, the Predator closes the gap between them. Batman parries a chop, keeping his sword close to his body and his guard low. With no room to swing, the combatants rely on short, pivoting motions in an attempt to inflict close-range cuts on each other. Yet each attack is met, every strike parried. The Predator has only one advantage in these conditions, and that is her superior strength. But that advantage she exploits to its full potential.

Though the choice to fall back was a tactical one, Batman soon finds himself pushed back in earnest. Against the massive Yautja, its all he can do to hold his own as he’s driven back the length of the hallway.

With a sudden shift in tactics, the Predator draws her blade back and thrusts forward. There’s no room to dodge in the narrow hallway. Batman sidesteps as well as he can, turning his sword in an attempt to deflect the sharp point shooting toward him.

Its too quick. 

Though pushed slightly off course, the wrist-blade still pierces his side. Batman grits his teeth, choking back a pained cry. Warm blood flows down his side. As the Predator pulls the blade back for another blow, Batman stumbles back into the trophy room. He breathes heavily, fighting to regain his balance as a drop of blood falls – seemingly in slow motion – to the carpet.

The moment that dragged on for an eternity is gone in an instant.

The wrist-blade slices the air. Batman spins out of reach, throwing a feint toward the Predator’s head. She reaches up to block, and the katana snakes underneath her guard. She leaps back, just missing Soultaker’s keen edge.

There’s enough room to move here, and the two blades carve the air with ruthless precision. Back and forth the combatants weave, the deadly ballet in their hands a strange contradiction to the raw test of strength in their footwork, as they battle for the dominant position with the desperate grace of a barroom brawl. While the Predator has the advantage of reach and strength, Batman is desperate. He’s struggling to stay focused and calm, but he knows he’s fighting the clock as much as he’s fighting the Predator.

The blood is running freely from the wound in his side. He needs to win this fight while he can still stay on his feet. On top of that, every minute that passes brings the other Yautja warriors closer. If he can’t beat one, he doesn’t stand a chance against three.

In a desperate gamble, Batman allows his guard to drop under the Predator’s merciless attack. Seeing an opening, the Predator overextends herself, lashing out for the kill. As she does, Batman sidesteps – and brings the butt of his sword down hard on the Yautja’s gauntlet, at the point where the wrist-blade attaches to the armband. 

The weapon is well-made, but not completely free of weak points. The Predator lets out a snarl as the blade pops loose form the gauntlet, clattering onto the floor. Before Batman can celebrate his victory, however, the Predator throws herself forward in an unarmed charge.

Her massive arms wrap around the Dark Knight, pinning his sword arm to his side. His free hand snaps up in a hard uppercut to the Predator’s chin, but she shrugs it off as if it were the fist of a small child. Batman mentally kicks himself; he should have known brute strength can’t win this fight.

His hand turns as he pulls it back. The spikes on his own gauntlet tear across the Predator’s shoulder, cutting deep into the muscle. 

The Yautja howls, more in rage than in pain, as that arm releases its grip. Taking advantage of his partial freedom, Batman pulls back and throws a leopard punch directly at the Predator’s sternum. Winded, she staggers back, releasing her hold on his other arm. Before she can recover, Batman drives his sword forward, stabbing his opponent in the stomach. The sword passes straight through the body, spilling green blood on the floor. But looking down, they both know it’s a failed strike, even before he draws the blade back. 

Perhaps it was simply bad luck, or perhaps Batman’s refusal to kill extends even to Predators. He’s not even sure himself. But the wound – while bloody – missed any organs. The Yautja may bleed to death without medical attention, but it’s not a fatal blow in itself. If she kills the Batman before she bleeds out, she’ll survive. But now she’s on the same ticking clock he is, as they both spill their blood on the floor.

She wrenches the sword out before he can, and tosses it aside. It’s a war of attrition now, with the winner being the one who can last longer. As Soultaker clatters to the floor, Batman catches a haymaker to the jaw.

He staggers back, knocking the three-horned skull off the wall. Grabbing two of the horns, he holds up the demonic trophy as the fist flies toward him again. The punch connects with the creature’s wide forehead, splintering bone and knocking the skull from Batman’s grasp.

Lunging forward, the Predator clamps both hands down on Batman’s shoulders, lifting him off the ground before throwing him across the room. 

Batman lands flat on his back in the medical bay, coughing blood as he tries to catch his breath. He looks up in time to see the Predator step through the door and stand over him. Just when he thinks these are his last moments alive, the ship lurches underfoot.

There’s a rumbling of engines. The Predator stops, looking around in some alarm. Batman comes to his feet, and throws a glance at the jungle below the entrance ramp. The ship is rising slowly off the ground. Roughly thirty yards away, the remaining two Predators have picked up the pace, desperate to reach the ship before it takes off.

Batman sees movement in the corner of his eye.

He turns, then leaps wildly to the side as his opponent charges again. Her momentum carries her past him, but at the last moment she spins on her heel, snapping out her arm to backhand the Dark Knight.

The blow catches him directly in the face, sending him crashing against the wall. He wills himself to hold on to consciousness, if only for a few more seconds. The spaceship continues to shudder underfoot, but he stands up at the ready, putting his hands up for the next attack.

The Predator stands waiting, locking eyes with the Batman. She reaches down, feels the wound in her stomach. She holds up her hand to look at the blood dripping from her fingers. Batman winces, feeling the pain of his own injuries. Thanks to the cracked rib, every breath is painful. If he hadn’t spent years familiarizing himself with pain, he doubts he would be on his feet right now.

Apparently the Predator is impressed with his resilience as well. Without breaking eye contact, she bows slightly before adopting a combat stance.

Surprised, Batman is unsure how to respond. But, after a moment, he bows as well. Both combatants rush each other at the same time.

They close the distance in an instant. A punch rips the air above Batman’s head, as he crouches to throw a kick to the Predator’s ribs. It lands solidly, driving her back, but not before she wraps her fingers around his calf. Leveraging his own strike to draw him in closer, she snaps a hard chop to his collar. Batman flops to the deck, but rolls back to his feet and aims a high kick at the Predator’s head. Its close, so close that a drop of green blood falls on his cape as the Predator dodges.

Having missed, his momentum carries him past his intended target. As he passes, the Predator throws out a kick of her own. He swerves to avoid the incoming boot, but winces as her heel just barely grazes the wound in his side. For the first time in over a decade, Batman gives his pain a voice. 

Another shudder passes through the ship. The rearward hatch begins to close, but Batman hardly notices it. His focus is on his opponent. He can feel the exhaustion slowing his movements, the agony of loss clouding his judgement. He sees the shards of his past played out in front of him. The death of his parents, the murder of Maseo, his loss to Bane, the lifeless eyes of Jason Todd. All his life, he’s wondered what his breaking point is.

This is it.

He knows it. The Predator can see it too.

She steps forward, and raises both arms overhead. Ready to deal the finishing blow. Batman forces himself to his feet, facing whatever happens next head-on. The Predator roars, a savage battle-cry for a hard-won victory. Batman thinks he sees genuine respect in her eyes, but maybe he’s imagining things. Either way, it doesn’t matter now.

He barely registers the movement in the corner of his eye.

But a moment later, the Predator’s roar is cut short. Wild-eyed and covered in blood, Bane charges into his view. With a roar of his own, he tackles the Predator. Moonlight flickers for only a moment on the wrist-blade still protruding from the giant’s chest; the next instant, the blade has gone through the Predator’s chest as Bane wraps his arms around her.

Batman’s eyes go wide, stunned, not sure if he can believe what he’s seeing. For the briefest of moments, he locks eyes with Bane. He sees the giant’s triumphant smirk, as the Predator’s expression changes to horror. For that moment, the two juggernauts stand on the edge of the slowly-closing ramp. The two greatest warriors Batman has ever faced, held together by Bane’s hug of death. Then they topple over the edge without a sound, and the hatch slowly creaks shut.

Batman lays on his back on the floor, not even sure how he got here. The fight is over, the last of his adrenaline spent, and the weight of relief almost seems worse than the fear of death it replaces. Why had Bane saved him? Batman can’t help but wonder. In his mind’s eye, Batman can see a line from himself to Bane to the Predator, like the stages of some strange disease. They shared more traits than the Dark Knight was comfortable admitting. They were warriors, they were hunters, living from day to day only to test themselves against other warriors, always looking for their equal. That’s why the Predator had smiled as the fight went on, why Bane had smirked as he sentenced himself and the Predator to death.

They had each found an opponent they were proud to fight. And they had both died warriors’ deaths.

Batman sighs, shaking off this philosophical rabbit trail brought on by his exhaustion. A sudden weight seems to press him into the floor; they must be leaving the atmosphere. Then the feeling passes, and he knows they’re in space now. Oliver must have figured out the ship’s controls. Batman knows he should get up, he should go check on him. Instead he lays on the floor and pulls in a deep breath.

“Five more minutes, Alfred,” he murmurs faintly. “Five more minutes.”


End file.
